THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

GIFT  OF 

Mrs.   Paul  Boyich 


// 


ASHES  OF  EMPIRE 


H  IRomance 


BY 

ROBERT  W.jCHAMBERS 

Author  of  "Lorraine,"  "  The  Red  Republic/'  "  The  King  in  Yellow," 
"  The  Haunts  of  Men,"  etc. 


NEW  YORK 
FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1898 
BY  ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS 


GIFT' 


as 


TO 

ETHEL  AND  WALTER 


10G 


ACKNOWLEDGMENT. 


The  author  desires  to  acknowledge  his  indebtedness 
to  the  valuable  works  of  M.  le  Commandant  Rousset 
and  "  Un  Officier  de  Marine."  The  name  of  one  fort, 
one  gate  and  two  streets  have  been  changed. 

R.  W.  C. 

BROADALBIN,  Oct.  11,  1897. 


ASHES  OF  EMPIRE. 


BEHIND  black  ramparts  where  an  angry  sun 
Bedded  on  ashes,  smoulders  in  the  West, 
Against  a  sky  of  fire  I  see  the  crest 
Of  battlements,  deep-terraced,  gun  on  gun. 

A  towered  Cathedral  burns  athwart  the  rays, 
A  maze  of  windows  kindle  in  the  blaze ; 
Chimney  and  dome  and  belfry,  one  by  one, 
Redden  to  cinders  through  the  crimson  haze. 

Gigantic  shadows  fall  on  roof  and  wall, 

Black  shapes  of  shade,  fantastic,  wax  and  fade, 

Graded  in  grey  ;  the  phantom  day  is  laid, 

Where  night's  pale  sister,  twilight,  smoothes  the  pall. 

The  double-thundered  din  of  shotted  guns 
Rumbles,  resounds,  rolling  from  fort  to  fort ; 
Fringing  the  powder-gloom,  from  port  to  port 
The  fretted  lightning  of  the  cannon  runs. 

Ashes  of  years  of  sin,  the  sacrifice, 
Ashes  of  oaths  and  vows  and  prayers  and  lies, 
Ashes  of  fool  and  knave  and  worldly  wise, 
Ashes  of  empire  under  ashen  skies. 

R.  W.  C. 


AUTHOR'S    PREFACE. 


THE  author's  intention  was  to  write  a  series  of  three 
novels  covering  the  period  of  the  Franco-Prussian  war 
and  the  Commune.  The  last  of  the  series,  "  The  Red 
Republic,"  was  written  first ;  the  first  of  the  series, 
"  Lorraine,"  was  next  written.  The  present  volume, 
"  Ashes  of  Empire,"  is  the  middle  volume  of  the  triad, 
dealing  with  the  period  of  the  siege  of  Paris  from  the 
disaster  at  Sedan  to  the  surrender  of  the  city.  As 
"  Lorraine  "  began  with  the  first  rumours  and  then  the 
declaration  of  war,  and,  foreshadowing  the  siege  of 
Paris,  ended  with  Sedan,  so  the  present  volume  fore 
shadows  the  communistic  outbreak  that  was  certain 
to  follow  the  surrender  of  the  city,  and  ends  just  as 
the  red  rag  of  revolt  is  hoisted  over  the  war-sick  capi 
tal. 

A  fourth  volume,  dealing  with  the  southern  invasion 
of  France,  co-eval  with  the  siege,  and  concerning  the 
operations  of  the  famous  Army  of  the  Loire,  will  be 
added  to  the  series  at  a  later  date,  thus  completing 
the  entire  period  between  June,  1870,  and  May,  1871. 

THE  AUTHOR. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.   THE   FLIGHT   OF  THE   EMPRESS,     .  .         I 

II.    "  THE    MOUSE,"              ....  14 

III.  APARTMENT   TO    LET,      .           .           .  .      2/ 

IV.  THE    HOUSE   ON   THE    RAMPARTS,        .  39 
V.    THE    MIRRORED   FACE,   .           .           .  .54 

VI.   IN   THE    CITY, 66 

VII.   AN   ACCOUNT  TO    SETTLE,       .  .      80 

VIII.   A   PEACEFUL   HOUR,    ....  90 

IX.   THE    PROPHET, IO5 

X.    THE    PROPHECY,             .           .           .           .  Il8 

XL    THE    "UNDERTAKERS,"             .           .  .    126 

XII.   IN    THE    MOONLIGHT,             ...  140 

XIII.  THE    SOUL   OF  YOLETTE,         .           .  .147 

XIV.  AN    OPEN    DOOR,             .           .           .           .  l6o 
XV.    THE    ANATOMY    OF   HAPPINESS,       *  .    1 66 

XVI.    BETROTHED, 1 77 

XVII.   A    RECRUIT   FOR   THE   GOVERNMENT,  .    190 

XVIII.    THE    WOMAN   WHO    WAITS,            .           .  198 

XIX.    THE    SORTIE,              .           .           .           .  .   2IO 

XX.    LE    BOURGET,        .           .           .           .           .  22O 

XXI.    THE    THIRTY-FIRST   OF   OCTOBER,  .   241 

XXII.    BOURKE    DOES   WHAT   HE   CAN,             .  258 

XXIII.  ASHES    OF    EMPIRE,            .           .  .273 

XXIV.  IN    HILDE'S   CHAMBER,          .          .           .  279 
XXV.    THE    BEGINNING   OF   THE   END,       .  .    289 

XXVI.    THE    BOMBARDMENT,              .           .           .  296 

XXVII.    AN    UNDERGROUND   AFFAIR,              .  .    308 

XXVIII.    THE    NIGHT   OF   ATONEMENT,      .           .  314 

XXIX.    THE    SONG   OF   THE    MOUSE,               .  .    324 

XXX.    SAINTE   HILDE   OF   CARHAIX,       .           .  337 


ASHES  OF  EMPIRE. 


CHAPTER   I. 
THE  FLIGHT   OF  THE  EMPRESS. 

THE  throng  outside  the  palace  had  swelled  to  men 
acing  proportions  ;  the  gay  cocked  hats  of  the  police 
glittered  above  a  sombre  sea  of  heads,  threading  the 
packed  square  with  double  strands  of  colour.  The 
throng  was  not  yet  a  mob ;  there  were  no  rushes,  no 
sullen  retreats,  no  capricious  stampedes,  but  it  grew 
denser.  Again  and  again  the  Imperial  police  pushed 
into  the  square  only  to  be  crushed  back  against  the 
park  railings  by  the  sheer  weight  of  the  people. 
From  the  river  a  battalion  of  mutinous  Mobiles  ad 
vanced  singing  a  deep  swinging  chorus  through  which 
the  treble  voices  of  the  newsboys  soared  piercingly : 
"  Extra !  Extra !  Frightful  disaster  in  the  north. 
Defeat  of  the  French  army  at  Sedan  !  Capture  of  the 
Emperor  !  Surrender  of  the  army  of  Chalons  !  Ter 
rible  battle  at  Sedan  !  Extra  !  Extra  !  " 

Across  the  bridge  the  people  surged  against  the 
Palais  Bourbon,  receding,  advancing,  retreating,  only 
to  dash  back  again  on  the  steel-barbed  grille,  a  deluge 
of  eager  human  beings,  a  chaos  of  white,  tense  faces 


2  ASHES   OF  EMPIRE. 

and  outstretched  hands.  And  now  over  all  swept  a 
whirlwind  of  sound — of  splendid  sonorous  song — the 
Marseillaise  ! 

The  crowd  had  become  a  mob.  The  Empire  was  at 
an  end. 

A  short,  fierce  howl  broke  from  the  crowd  which 
rilled  the  rue  de  Rivoli  from  the  Louvre  to  the  Place 
de  la  Concorde,  as  an  officer  of  the  Imperial  Guard 
appeared  for  a  moment  on  the  terrace  above  the  Oran- 
gerie  and  attempted  to  speak.  "  Go  back,  go  back  !  " 
shouted  the  mob.  "  Down  with  the  Empire  !  Long 
live  Republic  !  The  Empress  has  betrayed  Paris  ! 
Shame  !  Shame  !  "  Somebody  in  the  crush  raised  a 
gilded  wooden  eagle  on  a  fragment  of  broken  flagstaff 
and  shook  it  derisively  at  the  palace.  "  Burn  it ! " 
cried  the  mob  ;  "  we  want  no  eagles  now  !  " 

In  a  moment  the  gilded  eagle  was  on  fire.  A  drum 
mer  of  the  National  Guard  reversed  his  drum  and  beat 
the  charge  ;  a  young  girl  marched  beside  him,  also 
beating  a  drum,  her  thin,  white  face  set  with  a  hard 
smile,  her  eyes  flashing  under  knit  brows.  A  com 
pact  mass  of  people  hurled  themselves  against  the 
garden  grille,  the  iron  eagle  and  the  Imperial  N  were 
torn  from  the  gilt  gates  amid  a  tempest  of  cheers ;  the 
railing  crashed  in,  the  mob  was  loose. 

At  that  moment,  through  the  alley  of  trees,  a  de 
tachment  of  the  Garde  Impe"riale  marched  silently  up 
and  massed  itself  before  the  great  gate  of  the  Tuil- 
eries,  waiting  there,  solid,  motionless,  with  rifles  at 
parade  rest.  The  mob  came  to  a  sudden  halt. 

"Down  with  the  Imperial  Guard!  Hurrah  for  the 
National  Guard  !  "  shouted  the  man  with  the  blazing 
eagle,  and  he  swung  the  flaming  emblem  of  empire 


THE   FLIGHT   OF   THE   EMPRESS.  3 

till  it  crackled  and  showered  the  air  with  sparks  and 
burning  flakes  of  tinsel. 

The  girl  with  the  drum,  sitting  beside  the  parapet 
of  the  Orangerie,  beat  the  rappel  and  laughed  down 
at  the  Imperial  Guard. 

"  Are  you  afraid  ?  "  she  called  in  a  clear,  bantering 
voice.  "  I'll  give  you  a  shot  at  my  drum — you  there, 
with  the  Crimea  medal !  " 

A  young  ruffian  from  the  outer  boulevards  climbed 
to  the  parapet  beside  her.  "  Silence  !  "  shouted  the 
crowd.  "  Listen  to  the  Mouse  !  " 

The  Mouse,  however,  contented  himself  with  thrust 
ing  out  his  tongue  and  making  frightful  grimaces  at 
the  Imperial  Guard,  while  his  two  companions,  "  Mon 
Oncle "  and  "  Bibi  la  Goutte,"  alternately  laughed 
and  proffered  menaces.  Twice  an  officer  advanced  a 
little  way  along  the  alley  of  trees,  summoning  the 
crowd  to  fall  back.  The  second  time  a  young  fellow 
in  the  uniform  of  the  National  Guard  dragged  him 
self  from  the  crowd  and  nimbly  mounted  the  para 
pet. 

"You  tell  us  to  disperse,"  he  shouted  in  reply; 
"  I  tell  you  that  we'll  go  as  soon  as  that  flag  comes 
down  from  the  Tuileries."  Then  he  turned  to  the 
mob  with  violent  gestures; 

"  Do  you  know  why  that  flag  is  flying  ?  It  is  be 
cause  the  Empress  is  still  in  the  Tuileries.  Is  she  to 
stay  there  ?  " 

"  No,  no  !  Down  with  the  Empress  !  To  the  palace, 
to  the  palace  !  "  howled  the  mob. 

The  Mouse,  who  had  climbed  down  inside  the  gar 
dens,  began  to  yell  for  pillage,  but  a  drummer  of  the 
Imperial  Guard  kicked  him  headlong  through  the  gate 


4  ASHES    OF   EMPIRE. 

and  burst  out  laughing.  The  crowd  surged  forward, 
only  to  fall  back  again  before  the  levelled  rifles  of  the 
troops. 

"  Get  off  the  wall !  "  cried  the  officers,  angrily,  "  you 
gamine  there  with  your  drum  !  Go  back,  or  we  fire !  " 

The  girl  with  the  drum  regarded  them  ironically  and 
clicked  her  drum-sticks;  the  young  officer  of  the 
National  Guard  beside  her  cursed  the  troops  and 
shouted :  "  Tell  your  Empress  to  go  !  Who  is  she  to 
sit  in  the  Tuileries  ?  Who  sent  the  army  to  Sedan  ? 
Who  betrayed  the  nation  to  the  Prussians?  Tell 
your  Empress  to  go  while  she  can !  Do  you  think  the 
people  are  blind  and  deaf  ?  Do  you  think  the  people 
forget  ?  Tell  her  to  take  herself  and  family  out  of  the 
land  she  sold  to  Bismarck  !  Then  let  her  remember 
the  city  she  betrayed — the  people  who  watch  and  wait 
for  Prussian  shells  cowering  in  the  cellars  of  devastated 
homes — here  in  the  city  she  sold  !  " 

The  crowd  shouted  hoarsely  and  pressed  to  the  gate 
again.  The  young  orator's  fierce  eyes  shone  with  a 
hate  so  intense  that  the  troops  thought  him  mad. 
And  perhaps  he  was,  this  fanatic  who  in  days  to  come 
would  prove  his  brainless  bravery  to  an  insurgent  city 
and  die  under  the  merciless  sabres  of  Thiers'  gen 
darmes. 

"  Capt  Flourens,"  said  an  officer  of  the  Imperial 
Guard,  "if  you  do  not  call  off  your  mob,  their  blood 
will  be  on  your  head.  Shame  on  you  !  You  disgrace 
your  uniform  !  " 

"Captain  de  Sellier,"  replied  Flourens  fiercely,  "to 
morrow,  if  the  Prussian  army  halts  before  Paris,  I  will 
be  the  first  to  face  it,  for  the  honour  of  France.  But  I 
will  not  face  it  for  the  Empire.  Shall  Paris  fight  for 


THE   FLIGHT   OF   THE  EMPRESS.  $ 

the  woman  who  sold  France?  Shall  France  do  battle 
for  a  rotten  dynasty  tottering  to  ruin  ? — a  dynasty 
that  seeks  to  pull  down  the  motherland  with  it  into 
the  abyss  of  corruption  and  cowardice  and  treachery. 
The  Prussians  are  here  !  Let  them  come.  But  before 
we  face  them  let  us  cleanse  ourselves  from  that  which 
brought  us  to  destruction.  Down  with  the  Empire  !  " 

He  ceased  and  stepped  back.  The  girl  beside  him 
swung  her  drum  to  her  hip,  sprang  up,  and,  facing  the 
troops,  began  to  sing : 

"£aira!  £aira!" 

A  thunder  of  cheering  answered  her ;  the  steel 
stanchions  of  gate  and  grille  were  wrenched  out ;  the 
mob  was  armed. 

The  Imperial  Guard  hesitated,  then  fell  back  slowly, 
as  old  General  Mellinet  galloped  up,  glittering  with 
orders,  sashed  and  spurred,  his  face  crimson  with  anger. 

"  It  is  well,"  he  shouted,  shaking  his  clenched  fist 
at  the  crowd  ; — "  it  is  well  for  you  that  her  gracious 
Majesty  commands  that  not  one  drop  of  blood  shall 
be  spilled  to  protect  this  palace !  Cowards,  go  back 
to  your  kennels !  The  Empress  is  leaving  the 
palace ! " 

He  walked  his  splendid  bay  horse  straight  up  to  the 
shattered  gate  ;  a  straw  in  the  balance  would  decide 
his  fate  and  he  knew  it. 

"  You,  gentlemen,"  he  said  violently,  "  are  here  on 
a  vile  errand.  Are  you  not  blushing  for  your  uniform, 
Captain  Flourens?  And  you,  Monsieur  Victorien 
Sardou,  with  your  clay  mask  of  a  face, — and  you 
Armand  Gouzien — " 

For  a  second  rage  choked  him. 

*'What  do  you  want  of  me,  gentlemen?"  he  said, 


6  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

controlling  his  passion  with  an  effort.  "  I  have  made 
a  promise  and  you  will  find  that  I  will  keep  it.  If 
General  Trochu  has  deserted  the  Empress,  make  the 
most  of  it.  Let  God  deal  with  him.  As  for  me,  I  am 
here  to  stay.  Say  so  to  your  mob." 

At  this  moment  came  a  roar  from  the  crowd  outside  ; 
"  The  Empress  has  gone  !  The  Empress  has  gone  !  To 
the  palace  !  To  the  palace  !  The  Empress  has  gone!  " 

The  crowd  started  forward.  Then,  as  the  soldiers 
silently  brought  their  rifles  to  a  charge,  the  people  fell 
back,  crushing  and  trampling  in  their  hurry  to  regain 
the  pavement. 

"Look  out,  Bourke,"  said  a  young  man,  in  English, 
dragging  his  companion  away  from  the  gate  :  "  there'll 
be  a  panic  if  the  troops  fire.  Come  on  ;  let's  get  out 
of  this." 

"  Look,"  said  his  comrade,  eagerly,  "  look,  they've 
lowered  the  flag  on  the  cupola !  Do  you  see,  Jim? 
The  Empress  has  left  the  Tuileries!  " 

The  crowd  saw  it  too,  and  a  tumult  arose,  answered 
by  vociferous  cheering  from  the  packed  masses  in  the 
rue  de  Rivoli ; 

"  Vive  la  Republique  !     Down  with  the  Empire  !  " 

"  Hurrah  for  the  republic  ! "  shouted  Bourke,  laugh 
ing  and  waving  his  hat.  "  Harewood,  why  the  devil 
don't  you  cheer?" 

Malet  and  Shannon,  two  fellow  correspondents, 
passed  and  called  out  to  them  in  English  :  "  Hello, 
you  fellows;  it's  all  over.  The  Empress  has  gone  !  " 

"  Wait  for  us,"  motioned  Bourke.  But  already  the 
others  were  lost  in  the  crowd,  which  now  began  to  pour 
along  the  face  of  the  park  parapets  towards  the  river. 

Bourke,  his  arm  linked  in  Harewood's,  struggled  for 


THE   FLIGHT  OF   THE   EMPRESS.  7 

a  while  to  keep  his  course  to  the  rue  Royale,  but  the 
pressure  and  shouting  and  torrents  of  dust  confused 
him  and  he  let  himself  go. 

"  Confound  it ! "  he  gasped,  "  this  is  almost  a 
stampede.  Keep  your  feet,  Jim,  if  you  want  to  live 
to  get  out.  I  hope  the  Empress  is  safe." 

"  Where  are  our  horses?"  asked  Harewood,  strug 
gling  to  keep  with  his  comrade. 

"  In  the  arcade  of  the  Continental.  Good  heavens, 
Jim,  this  crush  is  frightful,"  he  said,  seizing  a  bar  of 
the  railing  behind  them.  "  Climb  up  and  over  :  it  is 
the  only  way  !  " 

"  They'll  shoot  you  from  the  palace !  "  cried  a  dozen 
voices. 

"  I  rather  be  shot  than  squashed  !  "  replied  Bourke, 
clambering  up  and  over  the  gilded  railing. 

In  a  moment  Harewood  sprang  to  the  turf  beside 
him,  panting  and  perspiring. 

11  Now  ! "  motioned  Bourke,  and  they  glided  across 
the  terrace  of  the  Orangerie,  and  let  themselves  down 
into  the  street,  dirty,  bruised  and  breathless. 

At  the  end  of  the  street  toward  the  Place  de  la 
Concorde,  a  mob,  flourishing  clubs  and  knives,  was 
vainly  trying  to  scale  the  parapets  of  the  gardens, 
shouting :  "  Death !  Death  to  the  Empress  !  "  But  a 
squad  of  police  held  the  parapets  and  hammered  the 
more  venturesome  of  the  people  with  the  flats  of  their 
swords.  Several  line  soldiers  and  Mobile  officers 
joined  the  police  ;  on  the  other  hand  the  throngs  in 
creased  every  moment,  and  their  angry  shouts  swelled 
to  a  solid  roar  :  "  Death  to  the  Empress !  Remember 
Sedan  ! " 

Among  a  group  of  frightened  pedestrians  who  had 


8  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

been  blocked  on  the  quay  between  both  mobs,  were 
two  ladies.  Bourke  caught  a  glimpse  of  their  light 
summer  gowns  as  he  crept  along  by  the  quay  wall. 
One  of  the  ladies  carried  a  covered  basket,  which  she 
held  close  to  her  breast.  Both  were  in  helpless  con 
sternation,  daring  neither  to  proceed  nor  to  return  to 
the  quay  alone,  where  already  the  mob  had  seized  the 
Batteau  Mouche,  crying,  "On  to  Saint  Cloud  ! " 

"  See  those  girls  !  "  cried  Bourke.  "  They'll  get  into 
that  crush  in  a  moment.  Jim,  they'll  be  trampled !  " 

Harewood  started  across  the  street  just  as  the 
young  lady  who  carried  the  basket  turned  and  hast 
ened  toward  the  Louvre,  where  a  cab  stood  near 
the  gutter.  Her  companion  followed,  running  ahead 
in  her  anxiety  and  calling  to  the  cab  driver,  who,  how 
ever,  shook  his  head,  refusing  to  move. 

As  Harewood  came  up,  the  girl  who  carried  the 
basket  shrank  back,  looking  at  him  with  startled  eyes, 
but  he  raised  his  hat,  and  then  turned  to  the  cabman. 
"  We  want  you,  "  he  said,  sharply. 

"  I  am  engaged.  I  was  told  to  wait  for  the  Aus 
trian  ambassador,"  said  the  driver,  adding  impudently  : 
"  Are  you  his  excellency,  Monsieur  Metternich  ?  " 

"You  must  take  these  ladies,"  said  Harewood. 
"  They  can't  stay  here — the  police  may  fire  at  any 
moment." 

"  Monsieur,"  said  the  cabby,  sarcastically,  "  can  I 
pass  that  mob  with  my  cab  ?  " 

"  You  can  pass,"  insisted  Bourke,  "  to  the  Place  Saint 
Germain — 1'Auxerrois.  We'll  lead  the  horse."  He 
laid  one  hand  on  the  bit. 

Before  the  cabman  could  protest,  Harewood  flung 
open  the  door,  saying ;  "  Mesdames,  there  is  no  time  to 


THE   FLIGHT   OF   THE   EMPRESS.  9 

lose !  " — while  Bourke  scowled  back  at  the  driver  and 
shook  his  fist.  "  Pig  of  a  cabman,"  he  whispered, 
"  drive  slowly  or  I'll  push  you  into  the  river." 

Harewood  was  laughing  as  he  closed  the  cab  door 
and  stepped  to  the  other  side  of  the  horse. 

"  Now,  Bourke,"  he  said,  "touch  up  your  jehu  !  " 

Bourke  uttered  another  awful  threat  and  signalled 
the  cabby.  The  latter  obeyed  with  a  despairing  grim 
ace,  and  the  horse  moved  off  along  the  quay,  the  two 
young  fellows  walking  on  either  side  of  the  horse's 
head. 

In  a  moment  they  were  in  the  crowd  that  sur 
rounded  the  gate  of  the  Carrousel,  but  the  crowd  was 
not  very  compact  and  they  threaded  their  way  slowly, 
amid  cheering  and  singing  and  savage  yells,  "  Death  ! 
Death  to  the  Empress !  " 

"  Poor  thing !  "  said  Harewood.  "  Hang  these  raga 
muffin  cutthroats  !  Go  slowly,  Bourke.  Hello,  what's 
up  now?" 

From  a  stairway  on  the  south  colonnade  of  the 
Louvre  a  group  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  were  issuing. 
Hurriedly  they  traversed  the  court  to  the  street  gate, 
where  a  mob  of  loungers  stood,  staring  up  at  the  gray 
fagade.  As  one  of  the  party,  a  lady  heavily  veiled 
in  crepe,  stepped  out  to  the  sidewalk,  a  gamin  clinging 
to  the  gate  piped  up  shrilly  : 

"  That's  the  Empress !  " 

Instantly  one  of  the  gentleman  in  attendance  seized 
the  urchin  by  one  ear  and  boxed  the  other  soundly, 
saying,  "  I'll  teach  you  to  shout,  *  Vive  la  Prusse  ! '  " 

For  a  moment  the  knot  of  idlers  laughed.  Then 
someone  in  the  crowd  said  distinctly  :  "  All  the  same, 
that  is  the  Empress." 


IO  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

A  silence  followed,  broken  by  a  single  voice,  low 
but  perfectly  distinct :  "  Death  to  the  Empress !  " 

There  was  a  restless  movement,  a  quick  pressing 
forward  of  wicked  faces,  a  shuffle  of  heavy  shoes.  In 
a  second  the  crowd  doubled  itself  as  if  by  magic  ; 
voices  rose,  harsh  and  ominous.  Somebody  struck 
the  iron  railing  with  a  steel-banded  club.  Bourke, 
standing  close  to  the  gutter  by  the  cab,  felt  the  door 
pushed  outward  and  he  turned,  alarmed,  as  both  young 
girls  sprang  out.  One  of  them  ran  to  the  Empress  and 
motioned  toward  the  cab. 

"  Hasten,  madame,"  she  said,  "  here  is  a  cab." 

Before  the  crowd  comprehended  what  was  being 
done  the  Empress  had  passed  them,  followed  by 
another  lady  and  two  gentlemen. 

"  Good  heavens,"  muttered  Harewood  to  Bourke, 
"  it  is  the  Empress  and  Madame  Le  Breton." 

The  Empress  laid  one  hand  on  the  cab  window,  then 
drew  back  and  said :  "  I  would  not  wish  to  take  your 
cab  if  you  also  are  in  danger." 

With  one  foot  on  the  carriage  step  she  looked  back 
at  the  young  girls,  appearing  utterly  oblivious  of  the 
risk  she  herself  ran. 

"Hasten,  madame,"  they  cried.  "We  are  in  no 
danger  !  Ah,  hasten,  madame  !  " 

Both  of  the  gentlemen  in  waiting  urged  the  Empress 
to  enter,  but  she  refused,  and  looked  steadily  at  the 
crowd,  which  was  now  closing  round  the  little  group. 
Then  she  quietly  stooped  and  kissed  the  girls. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  "  I  accept,  my  children." 

Bourke  and  Harewood  had  recognized  her  two 
escorts  as  the  Italian  minister  and  the  Austrian  am 
bassador.  And,  while  the  Empress  and  her  lady  in 
waiting  entered  the  cab,  Bourke  said  in  English ; 


THE   FLIGHT   OF   THE   EMPRESS.  II 

"  Go  quickly,  gentlemen ;  these  young  ladies  are 
safe  with  us.  God  knows  why  the  mob  does  not 
attack  you ! " 

Monsieur  de  Metternich  turned,  cool  and  collected, 
and  bowed  to  Bourke.  The  Empress  leaned  from  the 
cab  window  and  looked  at  the  young  girls  standing 
together,  white  and  frightened. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  your  name  ?" 

They  seemed  not  to  understand,  and  Harewood 
said : 

"  Quick,  the  Empress  asks  your  names?  " 

"  I— I— am  Yolette  Chalais— and  this  is  Hilde",  my 
sister,"  stammered  one  of  the  girls.  As  she  spoke,  in 
her  embarrassment  the  basket  dropped  from  her  hands, 
the  lid  flew  open,  and  three  white  pigeons  whirled  out, 
fluttering  through  the  crowd,  that  scattered  for  a  mo 
ment,  trying  to  see  what  had  happened. 

"  Now ! "  cried  Bourke,  as  the  two  diplomats 
jumped  into  the  cab  and  slammed  the  door.  The 
cabman  seized  his  reins  and  lashed  savagely  at  his 
horse,  the  crowd  stumbled  back  shrieking,  and,  before 
they  understood,  the  cab  dashed  away  in  a  torrent  of 
dust  and  flying  pebbles. 

In  his  excitement  Bourke  laughed  aloud,  crying : 
"Jim!  Jim!  What  a  fool  of  a  mob!  Well,  of  all 
the  bloodless  revolutions  I  ever  heard  of !  Look ! 
Here  come  some  troops,  too.  The  thing  is  over  ! " 

The  thing  was  nearly  over.  Even  the  Saint  Ger 
main  omnibuses  were  running  now,  halting  as  usual 
for  passengers  in  front  of  the  beautiful  church  opposite, 
and  to  one  of  these  omnibuses  Bourke  and  Harewood 
conducted  the  two  young  ladies  who  had  given  up  their 
cab  to  the  Empress  of  France.  Nobody  interfered 


12  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

with  them,  nobody  seemed  to  notice  them  except  a 
pasty-visaged  young  man  with  pale,  pig-like  eyes  who 
nodded  hastily  to  Bourke  and  walked  away. 

"  That  was  Speyer,  the  war  correspondent  for  that 
German-American  sheet/'  said  Bourke  to  Harewood. 
"  I  didn't  know  he  was  in  Paris." 

Harewood  frowned  and  said  nothing  until  their  dis 
concerted  but  grateful  charges  were  safely  seated  in 
the  omnibus.  Then  Bourke  said  several  civil  things 
in  well-intentioned  French. 

Both  young  men  offered  to  act  as  further  escort, 
were  timidly  thanked  but  unmistakably  discouraged, 
and  they  finally  stood  back,  raising  their  hats  as  the 
omnibus  started. 

"  Thank  you  again  for  all  you  have  done,"  said 
Hilde".  Yolette  inclined  her  head  with  pretty  reti 
cence;  the  driver  cracked  his  whip  and  the  three 
horses  moved  off  at  a  trot. 

Harewood  stared  after  the  vehicle  until  it  disap 
peared.  Bourke  lighted  a  cigarette,  smiled  quietly, 
and  said  :  "  Come  on,  Jim." 

As  they  turned  into  the  rue  de  Rivoli  Harewood 
began  :  "  Hilde"  Chalais — that's  one  of  them — I  don't 
know  which.  Pretty,  isn't  she  ?  I  mean  the  one  with 
the  dark  eyes.  Wonder  whether  we'll  see  them  again. 
Sorry  they  lost  their  pigeons.  Nice  girls — don't  you 
think  so?  They  live  out  on  the  rue  d'Ypres.  We'll 
pass  their  house  next  week  when  we  go  to  Saint 
Cloud  by  the  Porte  Rouge." 

Harewood  laughed  easily  and  walked  on  in  silence. 
Life  was  very  pleasant  at  times — even  delightful  when 
lighted  by  a  pair  of  deep  hazel  eyes. 

"  I  wonder — I  wonder — "  he  muttered. 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  THE   EMPRESS.  13 

11  What  ?  "  asked  Bourke. 

"  Nothing — only  that  one  with  the  brown  eyes — 
plucky  little  thing  to  give  up  her  cab — eh,  Cecil  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  if  we  go  to  Saint  Cloud,  we'll  go  by  way  of 
the  rue  d'Ypres." 

"  And  there  you'll  stay  ?  "  asked  Bourke,  scorn 
fully. 

"What?     I?     What  for?" 

Bourke  yawned  in  his  face  and  said  wearily  :  "  Be 
cause,  Jim,  I  never  knew  you  to  miss  making  an  ass 
of  yourself  when  the  devil  sent  the  opportunity." 


CHAPTER   II. 

"THE   MOUSE." 

IN  the  heated  silence  of  afternoon  the  tap,  tap,  tap 
of  a  drum  came  up  from  the  southwest,  now  indistinct 
and  smothered,  now  louder  as  the  sound  approached 
the  Porte  Rouge,  waking  soft  echoes  along  the  sodded 
fortifications. 

A  dozing  sentry  in  front  of  the  Prince  Murat  bar 
racks  sauntered  out  to  the  gutter,  shading  his  face 
with  one  tanned  hand.  At  the  end  of  the  rue  d'Ypres 
sunlight  sparkled  on  the  brass  of  a  drum,  bayonets 
twinkled  through  the  dust  haze,  a  single  bugle  blew 
long  and  faintly. 

When  the  red  trousers  of  the  gate  patrol  had  passed 
and  the  dull  rumble  of  the  drum  had  softened  to  a 
vibration  in  the  dazzling  stillness,  the  sentinel  strolled 
back  to  loaf,  blinking,  in  his  shadowy  sentry-box,  lean 
ing  on  the  chassepot  rifle  which  he  did  not  know  how 
to  use.  For  the  sentinel  was  a  National  Guardsman, 
and  they  had  taken  away  his  Gras  rifle  and  given  him 
a  chassepot,  and  set  him  to  guard  empty  barracks  in  a 
street  inhabited  principally  by  sparrows. 

^At  that  moment,  however,  the  rue  d'Ypres,  which, 
with  its  single  row  of  weather-battered  houses,  faced 
the  fortifications  of  the  Porte  Rouge  secteur,  was  not 


"  THE   MOUSE."  15 

entirely  deserted.  Beside  the  sentinel  and  the 
sparrows,  some  one  else  was  moving  aimlessly  about 
in  the  sunshine  with  his  hands  thrust  into  the  pockets 
of  a  stained  jacket. 

As  he  passed  the  barrack  grille  he  raised  his  hard 
face  and  fixed  a  pair  of  narrow,  uncertain  eyes  on  the 
sentinel.  One  of  his  eyes  was  very  bright — almost 
luminous,  like  the  eyes  of  small  animals  at  night ;  the 
other  eye  was  sightless  and  seared. 

There  is  something  ominous  in  the  upward  gaze  of 
a  startled  animal  ;  there  was  something  more  sinister 
in  the  glance  of  u  The  Mouse  "  as  it  fell  before  the 
frowning,  suspicious  face  of  the  sentinel. 

"  Passez  au  large ! "  growled  the  sentinel,  straight 
ening  up. 

"  C'est  £a  ;  et  ta  soeur!"  retorted  the  Mouse,  with 
a  frightful  leer.  Then  he  passed  on,  his  mouth  dis 
torted  in  a  smile,  for  he  was  thinking  of  the  future  and 
of  destiny,  and  the  market  value  of  petroleum.  He 
was  a  philosopher  at  all  times,  occasionally,  perhaps, 
a  prophet. 

The  Mouse  enjoyed  the  hot  September  sunshine. 
As  he  slouched  past  the  passage  de  1'Ombre  and  across 
the  rue  d'Ypres  he  yawned  with  semi-torpid  satisfac 
tion,  and  shuffled  his  worn  shoes  luxuriously  through 
the  taller  grass  below  the  glacis.  Exertion  disagreed 
with  the  Mouse  ;  unnecessary  effort  was  abhorrent  to 
him.  Under  his  insolent  eyelids  his  shifty  eyes 
searched  the  talus  of  the  fortifications  for  a  grassy, 
sun-warmed  nook,  created  by  Providence  and  the  Im 
perial  engineers  for  such  as  he. 

Across  the  street  the  afternoon  sun  blazed  on  the 
shabby  houses.  The  iron  gateway  of  the  Prince 


l6  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

Murat  barracks  was  closed,  the  National  Guard  senti 
nel  now  leaned  in  the  shadow  of  his  box,  drowsy  and 
motionless.  Not  a  soul  was  stirring  in  the  street; 
there  was  no  sound,  no  movement  except  when  a  dusty 
sparrow  raised  its  head  from  the  hot  grass,  beak  agape 
as  though  parched. 

The  Mouse  contemplated  the  sparrow  with  his  soli 
tary  eye.  He,  too,  was  thirsty.  He  clacked  his 
tongue  twice,  spat  upon  the  grass,  scratched  one  large 
ear,  and  yawned.  Presently  he  drew  a  pipe  from 
some  recess  beneath  his  jacket,  filled  it,  rammed  one 
dirty  finger  into  the  bowl,  and  gazed  trustfully  toward 
heaven  for  a  match.  Neither  matches  nor  manna 
were  falling  that  year  in  Paris ;  there  were  to  be  other 
showers  from  the  autumn  skies. 

With  one  finger  in  the  bowl  of  his  pipe  and  the 
dingy  stem  in  his  mouth  he  gazed  heavenward  until 
the  sun  made  him  blink.  Then  he  shifted  his  glance 
along  the  glacis  of  the  fortifications.  Across  the  rue 
d'Ypres,  where  there  were  houses,  a  caged  canary  bird 
twittered,  trilled  and  ceased  as  suddenly  as  it  had 
begun.  Without  turning  his  head  the  Mouse's  eye 
searched  the  other  side  of  the  street  until  it  rested  on 
a  sign  : 


Chalais 
Dealer  in  Birds. 


"THE   MOUSE."  17 

Under  this  hung  another  sign  ; 


Apartment  to  Let, 
Inquire  Within. 


After  a  minute's  restless  contemplation  of  the  signs 
and  the  open  door,  the  Mouse  sauntered  over  to  the 
bird  store,  slouched  up  to  the  window  and  pressed 
his  insignificant  nose  against  it.  Little  by  little  the 
dim  interior  of  the  bird  store  became  visible.  He 
leisurely  surveyed  the  rows  of  wire  and  wicker  cages, 
drumming  on  the  window  glass  with  grimy  fingers. 
A  grey  and  scarlet  parrot,  dozing  on  a  perch,  woke  up 
and  turned  a  penetrating  look  on  him. 

The  Mouse  flattened  his  face  against  the  window 
and  thrust  his  tongue  out  at  the  parrot. 

At  first  the  bird  paid  little  attention  to  this  insult, 
but,  as  the  Mouse  persevered,  the  parrot  eyed  him 
with  increasing  animosity. 

"  Coco  !  Coco  !  Salaud  I  Tiens  pour  toi,  vieux 
cretin  !  "  sneered  the  Mouse,  tapping  on  the  window 
with  his  pipestem  and  distorting  his  mouth  in  derision 
until  the  parrot  flapped  its  wings  and  screamed,  the 
feathers  on  its  head  erect  with  excitement  and  irrita 
tion.  One  by  one  the  other  birds,  now  also  greatly 
agitated,  joined  in  ;  the  jackdaw  croaked  and  chat 
tered,  and  the  finches,  thrushes  and  canaries  chorused 
a  shrill  treble.  A  young  monkey  in  a  corner  set  up  an 


18  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

ear-piercing  shriek  and  a  red  squirrel  rushed  madly 
around  in  his  wire  wheel. 

The  Mouse  was  amused.  With  sneers  and  jibes 
and  jeering  gestures  he  excited  the  parrot  ;  he  made 
awful  faces  at  the  monkey  until  the  little  creature 
clung  to  the  cage  wires,  shivering  and  screaming  ;  he 
frightened  the  smaller  birds  by  waving  his  dirty  fin 
gers  to  and  fro  before  the  window  frames.  Presently, 
however,  he  tired  of  the  sport ;  his  restless  eye  roamed 
about  the  interior  of  the  shop  ;  he  pressed  his  pitted 
face  closer  to  the  glass,  with  now  and  then  a  rapid 
sidelong  glance  peculiar  to  the  chevalier  of  industry 
the  wrorld  over. 

There  was  nobody  in  the  outer  shop,  that  was  clear. 
There  seemed  to  be  nothing  to  steal  there,  either  :  the 
Mouse  did  not  consider  birds  worth  stealing.  Still, 
nobody  seemed  to  be  about,  and  it  was  the  instinct  of 
the  Mouse  to  rummage.  He  withdrew  from  the  win 
dow,  assured  himself  that  the  street  was  deserted, 
then  slouched  silently  around  to  the  open  door  and 
entered. 

As  he  set  his  worn  shoe  upon  the  threshold  the 
feathers  on  the  parrot's  neck  flattened  in  alarm,  the 
monkey  crouched  trembling  in  a  corner  of  his  cage, 
every  little  bird  became  mute  and  motionless. 

For  a  minute  the  Mouse  peered  about  the  shop. 
The  squirrel  still  scrambled  madly  in  his  wheel,  and 
the  narrow  eye  of  the  Mouse  followed  the  whirling 
spokes. 

There  was  a  closed  door  at  the  further  end  of  the 
room  ;  the  Mouse  fixed  his  eye  upon  it  and  stepped 
softly  across  the  floor,  one  hand  outstretched  toward 
the  knob.  When  he  had  it  in  his  hand  he  paused,  un- 


"  THE   MOUSE."  19 

decided,  then  turned  the  handle  in  silence.  Instantly 
something  moved  on  the  other  side — something  heavy 
and  soft — the  door  was  pushed  open  with  a  steady, 
resistless  pressure  that  forced  the  Mouse  back  flat 
against  the  wall. 

It  was  then  that  the  Mouse,  peering  over  his 
shoulder,  felt  his  blood  freeze  and  his  shabby  knees 
give  way.  For,  staring  up  into  his  face,  stood  a  full- 
grown  lioness  with  her  brilliant  eyes  fixed  on  his.  He 
would  have  shrieked  if  he  could,  but  terror  paralyzed 
him  ;  he  felt  that  he  was  going  to  swoon.  Suddenly 
there  came  the  sound  of  voices,  a  distant  door  opened, 
steps  echoed  across  a  tiled  hallway,  and  two  girls  en 
tered  the  shop  from  the  further  room.  The  lioness 
turned  her  head  at  the  sound,  hesitated,  glanced  back 
at  the  Mouse  and  finally  slunk  hastily  away,  only  to 
be  seized  and  held  by  one  of  the  girls,  while  the  other 
alternately  slapped,  cuffed  and  kissed  her. 

"  Scheherazade  ought  to  be  slapped  instead  of 
kissed,"  cried  the  taller  girl,  shoving  the  anxious  but 
docile  lioness  towards  the  doorway  ;  "  really,  Yolette, 
you  spoil  her;  some  day  she'll  run  out  into  the  street, 
and  then  they'll  shoot  her." 

"  Poor  darling,"  said  Yolette,"  she  didn't  mean  to 
be  naughty.  Somebody  must  have  left  the  door  open 
— Scheherazade  can't  turn  the  knob,  you  know."  As 
she  spoke  she  laid  one  hand  on  the  neck  of  the  lioness. 

"  Come,  naughty  one,"  she  said,  and  urged  the  great 
creature  towards  the  inner  room,  calling  back  to  her 
sister:  "  Hild£,  dear,  shut  the  door  !  " 

"  I've  a  mind  to  shut  it  on  Scheherazade's  tail,"  said 
Hilde  :  "  she's  frightened  the  birds  and  animals  nearly 
to  death.  Our  squirrel  is  going  mad,  I  believe," 


20  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

The  parrot  clamoured  on  its  perch,  and  she  went 
over  to  quiet  it,  talking  all  the  while. 

"  Poor  little  Mehemet  Ali,  did  the  big  lion  frighten 
him?  There!  There!  and  poor  little  Rocco,  too!" 
turning  towards  the  shivering  monkey.  "  It's  a  per 
fect  shame — it  is,  indeed  !  " 

"  Hild£  !  Do  shut  the  door  !  "  called  Yolette  from 
the  inner  room  ;  "  I'm  going  to  give  Scheherazade  her 
ball  to  play  with  and  then  I'll  come  out." 

Hilde  gave  one  last  pat  to  the  parrot's  head  and 
went  towards  the  door.  As  she  laid  her  hand  on  the 
knob  her  eyes  encountered  a  pair  of  dusty,  flat  shoes, 
protruding  beneath  the  sill.  The  shoes  covered  the 
feet  of  the  Mouse,  and,  as  she  threw  back  the  door 
with  a  startled  exclamation,  the  Mouse  himself  stood 
revealed,  terribly  haggard  from  the  effects  of  his  re 
cent  fright,  but  now  sufficiently  recovered  to  bound 
with  much  agility  into  the  street. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ? "  stammered  Hilde", 
following  him  to  the  outer  door. 

"  I  ?  "  said  the  Mouse,  recovering  his  composure  a 
little  and  crossing  one  foot  before  the  other.  "  I, 
mademoiselle,  am  an  authorized  agent  for  the  public 
defense." 

"  If  you  are  soliciting  subscriptions,  why  did  you 
not  ring  the  doorbell  or  knock?"  asked  Hilde",  as 
Yolette  entered  and  stood  at  her  side. 

"  Why,  to  tell  the  truth,"  said  the  Mouse,  bowing 
impudently,  "  I  only  intended  to  ask  for  a  match.  I 
knocked,  politely,  as  I  was  taught  to  do  in  my  youth, 
but—" 

"If  you  please,  will  you  go  away?"  interrupted 
Yolette,  quickly. 


"THE    MOUSE.  21 

"  I  have  the  honour,"  said  the  Mouse,  removing  his 
greasy,  peaked  cap  with  a  flourish,  and  smoothing  the 
lovelocks  plastered  over  each  ear,  "  I  have  the  honour 
to  obey.  Always  at  the  service  of  ladies — always  de 
voted  " — he  flourished  his  pipe  with  dignity — "  al 
though  I  had  hoped  for  the  small  courtesy  of  a 
match." 

"  HildeY'  whispered  Yolette,  "he  will  go  away  if 
you  give  him  a  match." 

Hilde  stepped  to  the  counter,  found  a  card  of 
matches,  and  returned  to  the  door.  The  Mouse's 
small  eye  followed  every  expression  on  the  two  girlish 
faces.  He  took  the  matches  with  condescension, 
smirked,  and  continued  impudently  :  "  Ladies,  in  the 
present  unfortunate  condition  of  public  affairs,  in  the 
face  of  a  revolution  which,  within  a  week,  has  changed 
the  government  of  France  from  an  empire  to  a  re 
public,  in  the  face  of  the  impending  advance  of  the 
Prussian  armies  and  the  ultimate  investment  of  the 
city  of  Paris,  may  I  venture  to  solicit  a  small  contri 
bution  for  the  purpose  of  adding  to  the  patriotic  fund, 
destined  to  arm  the  fortifications  yonder  with  new 
and  improved  breech-loading  cannon  ?  " 

He  glanced  from  Hilde  to  Yolette,  his  wary  eye 
narrowing  to  a  slit. 

"  I  don't  believe  he's  an  agent,"  whispered  Hilde; 
"  don't  give  him  anything." 

Yolette  drew  a  small  purse  from  her  gown  and 
looked  at  the  Mouse  with  sincere  eyes. 

"  Will  you  really  give  it  to  the  public  defense  ?  " 
she  asked.  "  Or — if  you  are  hungry  and  need  it  for 
yourself — " 


22  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

"  Don't  do  it,"  murmured  Hilde  ;  "he  is  not 
honest." 

The  Mouse's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  his  lips  quivered. 

"  Honesty  is  often  clothed  in  rags,"  he  sniveled, 
drawing  himself  up.  "  I  thank  you  for  your  courtesy. 
I  will  go." 

He  moved  away,  furtively  brushing  a  tear  from  his 
cheek.  Yolette  stepped  across  the  threshold  and 
touched  his  ragged  elbow  impulsively.  He  turned 
with  a  dramatic  start,  accepted  the  small  silver  coin, 
then  stalked  across  the  street,  his  head  on  his  breast, 
his  arms  folded.  Presently  the  stalk  relapsed  into  a 
walk,  then  into  a  shuffle,  then  into  a  slouch.  The  sun 
shine  lay  warm  on  the  grass-grown  fortifications ; 
where  it  lay  warmest  the  Mouse  sat  him  down  and 
crossed  his  legs. 

When  he  had  lighted  his  pipe  he  stretched  out  at 
full  length,  both  arms  behind  his  head,  cap  tilted  to 
shade  his  single  eye.  Under  the  peak  of  the  cap  he 
could  see  the  pipe-smoke  curl ;  he  could  also  see  the 
long  yellow  road,  stretching  away  into  the  country 
from  the  Porte  Rouge.  Out  there  somewhere — per 
haps  very  far,  perhaps  very  near — the  Prussian  armies 
were  moving  across  France  toward  Paris.  The 
thought  amused  the  Mouse.  He  scratched  one  large 
ear  and  speculated.  With  the  Prussians  would  come 
bombardment,  with  bombardment  would  come  panic, 
with  panic  might  come  anarchy,  and  with  anarchy 
would  come  pillage  ! 

The  Mouse  smacked  his  lips  over  the  pipe-stem. 
He  reflected  that  the  revolution,  accomplished  five 
days  previous,  had  brought  with  it  no  plunder  so  far 
as  he  was  concerned.  It  had  been  a  stupid  revolution 


"  THE   MOUSE.  23 

— shouting,  jostling  the  bourgeoisie,  a  rush  at  the 
Tuileries,  a  whack  over  the  head  from  a  rifle-stock, 
but  no  pillage.  In  vain  had  he,  the  Mouse,  in  com 
pany  with  two  ambitious  companions,  Bibi  la  Goutte 
and  Mon  Oncle,  descended  from  the  shady  nooks  of 
Montparnasse  with  the  frank  intention  of  rummaging 
the  Tuileries — and  perhaps  some  houses  of  the  stupid 
citizens.  In  vain  had  Bibi  la  Goutte  bawled  anarchy 
and  treason,  in  vain  had  Mon  Oncle  demanded  to  be 
led  to  the  sack  of  palaces.  The  brutal  guards  had 
thumped  Mon  Oncle  with  their  rifle-butts,  the  Im 
perial  police  had  mauled  Bibi  la  Goutte,  and,  as  for 
the  Mouse,  he  had  gained  nothing  but  an  abrasion  of 
the  scalp  from  contact  with  an  officer's  sword-hilt. 

But  now  the  Mouse  truly  hoped  that,  with  the 
advent  of  the  victorious  Prussian  armies  before  the 
walls  of  Paris,  things  might  be  different.  When  the 
big  shells  began  to  sail  over  the  Seine  and  knock 
houses  and  churches  into  kindling  wood,  the  Mouse 
intended  to  do  a  little  exploring  on  his  private  ac 
count,  and  he  acknowledged  with  enthusiasm  that  it 
would  be  a  degenerate  knight  of  leisure  who  should 
fail  to  amass  a  pretty  competency. 

So  the  Mouse  lay  musing  and  smoking  in  the  warm 
September  sun,  one  eye  half  closed,  but  still  fixed  on 
the  yellow  road  which  crawled  across  the  plain  at  his 
feet.  He  was  absolutely  contented  ;  he  had  tobacco, 
sunshine — and  50  centimes  in  silver  in  his  pocket,  to 
spend  on  food  or  drink,  as  he  chose.  Once  he  thought 
of  the  lion,  and  shuddered  at  the  thought.  Some  day 
when  he  had  time  he  would  find  a  way  to  poison  the 
creature,  he  hoped,  and  incidentally  to  rob  the  bird 
store. 


24  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

As  he  lay  diverted  by  these  pleasant  thoughts,  he 
became  aware  of  a  cloud  of  dust  on  the  road  below. 
He  watched  it ;  it  came  nearer  and  nearer ;  he  could 
distinguish  the  red  trousers  of  French  infantry ;  a  gun 
boomed  from  some  distant  bastion  ;  another,  still  more 
distant,  answered  the  signal.  The  Mouse  sat  up.  He 
could  see  that  the  dust  cloud  enveloped  heavy  moving 
columns  of  troops,  advancing  slowly  toward  the  walls 
of  Paris.  At  the  Porte  Rouge  drums  were  beating. 

The  Mouse  rose,  stretched,  yawned  and  slouched  off 
down  the  embankment  to  the  street,  As  he  passed 
the  bird  store,  Yolette  and  Hild6  came  to  the  door, 
gazing  anxiously  toward  the  fortifications. 

The  Mouse  leered  at  them,  removed  his  cap,  laying 
a  dirty  hand  on  his  heart.  "  Always  the  ladies'  slave," 
he  called  across  the  street,  and  shuffled  on  toward  the 
Porte  Rouge. 

At  the  gate  he  shoved  and  elbowed  his  way  through 
the  increasing  throng  until  he  reached  the  pont-levis. 
The  line  sentinels  drove  him  back  again,  but  he  man 
aged  to  crawl  up  to  the  grille  and  hang  on  to  the  steel 
bars.  Here  he  found  himself  in  company  with  two 
bosom  friends,  Bibi  la  Goutte  and  Mon  Oncle. 

"  Mince !  "  observed  Bibi,  as  a  column  of  dusty  hus 
sars  galloped  up  to  the  drawbridge  and  drew  bridle, 
"  they've  seen  uncomfortable  things  out  yonder — 
those  hussars.  It's  Vinoy's  I3th  corps  back  from 
Badinguet's  fete  champetre." 

Mon  Oncle  sneered  and  mimicked  the  officer's  com 
mands  as  a  close  column  of  infantry  came  plodding 
through  the  gate,  haggard,  ghastly,  beneath  their  coat 
of  tan  and  dust. 

"  Bigre  !  "   observed  Bibi,  under  his  breath,  but  the 


25 

Mouse  climbed  up  on  the  grille  and  hurled  insults  at 
the  exhausted  troops :  "  Malheur,  si  $a  fait  pas  gueler ! 
On  dirait  des  chaouchs  de  Biribi !  Ah!  mince,  on 
prend  des  airs  deja !  Mort  aux  cretins !  On  n'est 
pus  su'  1'pave  de  Badinguet,  tas  de  sergots ! " 

Then  he  spat  upon  the  ground,  shook  his  fist  at  the 
sky,  shrugged  and  slouched  out  of  the  crowd,  followed 
closely  by  Bibi  la  Goutte  and  Mon  Oncle. 

The  latter  was  somewhat  puzzled  at  the  Mouse's 
sudden  outburst,  and  looked  doubtfully  at  Bibi. 

"The  Mouse  is  capricious,"  he  observed. 

"  No,"  said  Bibi,  scornfully,  "  the  Mouse  doesn't 
care,  except  that  there's  another  army  corps  in  Paris 
now ;  and  when  the  hour  comes  to  do  a  little  pillag 
ing — these  imbecile  soldiers  may  annoy  us." 

The  Mouse  remained  mute,  but,  as  he  trudged  over 
the  glacis,  he  cast  a  glance  of  horrible  malignity  at  the 
battered,  sun-scorched  soldiers,  toiling  across  the  draw 
bridge  below. 

Then,  with  a  gesture,  he  turned  his  back,  closed  his 
sightless  eye  and  sat  down  on  the  grass.  Bibi  regarded 
him  in  breathless  admiration,  his  lean  jaws  working 
with  emotion. 

"  What  a  general  he  would  make  !  "  he  whispered  to 
Mon  Oncle. 

"  Or  what  an  assassin  !  "  replied  Mon  Oncle,  aloud, 
mopping  his  fat  face. 

The  Mouse  felt  the  compliment,  but  said  nothing. 
The  drums  beat  continuously  down  by  the  gate,  the 
dull  cries  of  the  officers  came  up  to  them  from  below 
mingled  with  the  murmur  of  the  throng  at  the  pont- 
levis. 

Bibi,  sitting  on  the  grass,  nodded  drowsily  in  the 


26  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

hot  sunshine.  Mon  Oncle  stretched  his  short  bandy 
legs  out  under  an  acacia  bush,  and  presently  fell 
asleep.  The  Mouse,  too,  appeared  to  slumber,  except 
when  a  breeze  moved  the  brim  of  his  cap,  and  a  stray 
spot  of  sunlight  glimmered  on  the  iris  of  his  sightless 
eye. 


CHAPTER  III. 

APARTMENT   TO   LET. 

YOLETTE,  standing  at  the  door  of  the  bird  store, 
with  her  arm  around  Hilde's  waist,  and  one  hand 
shading  her  face,  could  see  the  exhausted  infantry 
tramping  through  the  Porte  Rouge,  between  the 
steadily  increasing  throngs  of  people. 

The  crowd  at  first  was  silent  but  gravely  attentive. 
Little  by  little,  however,  they  realised  what  it  meant ; 
they  began  to  understand  that  this  entry  of  Blanch- 
ard's  division  from  Mezieres,  intact,  was  nothing  less 
than  the  first  actual  triumph  for  French  strategy  since 
the  Uhlan  vanguard  galloped  over  the  frontier  and 
the  Prussian  needle-guns  cracked  across  the  Spicheren 
in  the  early  days  of  August.  For,  when  Blanchard's 
division  of  Vinoy's  I3th  corps  stole  out  of  Mezieres  at 
dawn  on  September  2,  1870,  with  the  furnace  breath  of 
Sedan  in  their  faces  and  the  German  cavalry  at  their 
heels,  nobody,  not  even  General  Vinoy  himself,  dared 
hope  to  turn  a  retreat  into  victory  or  to  bring  back 
one  soldier  out  of  ten  again  under  the  guns  of  Paris. 

Yet  now  it  was  done.  On  September  5  Blanchard's 
division  joined  Maud'huy's  at  Laon,  and  the  I3th  corps 
was  reunited.  And  here  they  were  ;  it  was  Guilhem's 
brigade,  the  6th  Hussars  and  the  42nd  and  35th  line 
infantry  that  surged  in  at  the  Porte  Rouge,  drums 


28  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

beating,  beating,  beating,  through  the  pulsating  dust 
waves,  bayonets  crimsoned  by  the  red  level  rays  of  the 
setting  sun. 

Suddenly  on  the  forts  of  Issy,  Vanves,  Montrouge 
and  Bicetre  the  siege  guns  boomed  their  welcome  to 
the  returning  troops.  Fort  after  fort  took  up  the  sa 
lute,  bastion  after  bastion,  until  from  the  fort  d'lvry 
to  the  battery  of  the  Double  Crown,  and  from  Fonte- 
nay  to  the  Fortress  of  the  East,  the  thunder  rolled  in 
one  majestic  reverberation,  dominated  by  the  tre 
mendous  shocks  from  Mont-Vale"rien. 

When  the  roar  from  the  sixteen  forts  had  ceased 
and  the  immense  waves  of  sound  rolled  further  and 
further  away,  leaving  in  the  ears  of  the  people  nothing 
but  the  drum  taps  of  marching  columns,  a  sentiment, 
long  unknown,  stirred  every  heart  in  Paris.  The  sen 
timent  was  hope.  At  the  Porte  Rouge  they  were 
cheering  now  ;  Montparnasse  heard  the  unaccustomed 
sound,  and  the  streets  swarmed  from  the  Luxem 
bourg  to  the  Montrouge  gate.  They  were  cheering, 
too,  in  the  north,  across  the  river,  where  the  artillery 
of  Maud'huy's  division  was  parking  along  the  avenue 
de  la  Grande-Arme"e. 

Down  at  the  Porte  Rouge  the  hussars  entered  at  a 
trot,  trumpeters  sounding  the  regimental  march,  while 
the  crowd  broke  into  frantic  cheering,  and  tear-choked 
voices  blessed  them  and  tear-stained  faces  were  raised 
to  the  hard,  bright  sky,  burnished  with  a  fiercer  ra 
diance  where  the  sun  hung  over  the  smoking  Meudon 
woods,  like  a  disk  of  polished  copper. 

And  so  after  all  they  had  returned,  this  army  given 
up  for  lost ;  they  had  returned  singed  by  the  flames 
in  the  north,  stained  with  northern  rain  and  mud  and 


APARTMENT   TO   LET.  29 

dust,  exhausted,  starving,  reeling  under  the  weight  of 
their  knapsacks  and  rifles,  but  saved  from  annihilation. 

Paris  forgot  everything  except  that — forgot  the  red 
trail  of  butchery  from  Forbach  to  Metz ;  forgot  the 
smoking  debris  of  battles  lost  and  battles  worse  than 
lost ;  forgot  Strassebourg,  crumbling  under  German 
shells  ;  forgot  Metz,  drenched  with  blood,  cowering 
under  the  spectre  of  famine ;  forgot  Toul  and  Belfort 
and  the  imbecile  manoeuvres  of  an  ironclad  fleet — all 
this  was  forgotten  in  the  joy  of  the  moment.  What 
if  three  German  armies  were  even  then  on  the  march 
toward  Paris  ?  Paris  would  be  ready ;  Paris  would 
arm  ;  nothing  should  withstand  her ;  nothing  could 
penetrate  hercuirassed  armour  of  enormous  forts — six 
teen  forts  strung  outside  the  walls  on  a  circle  of  lesser 
redoubts  and  batteries,  sixty  kilometres  in  circumfer 
ence.  A  necklace  of  steel,  a  double  necklace,  for  in 
side  the  ring  of  forts  lay  the  city  fortifications  proper 
— the  enormous  enceinte  forty-one  kilometres]  long, 
encircling  the  city  from  the  Seine  to  the  Marne.  The 
forts  and  the  ninety-four  bastions  mounted  two  thous 
and  two  hundred  cannon,  huge  pieces  of  fifteen  and 
twelve,  and  even  a  few  thirteen  ton,  marine  monsters 
of  nineteen  and  sixteen.  The  people  had  heard  their 
voices  from  Mont-Valerien,  setting  the  whole  city 
rocking  with  the  earthquake  of  their  welcome  to  the 
1 3th  corps.  And  how  the  throngs  cheered  ! 

Hilde  and  Yolette  leaned  together  from  their  door 
and  saw  a  pillar  of  dust,  dyed  crimson  in  the  sun's  last 
level  rays,  moving  up  the  rue  d'Ypres. 

"They  are  coming — they  will  pass  here,"  cried 
Hilde;  "  look,  Yolette  !" 

"  I  see,"  said  Yolette,  her  voice  unsteady  with  ex- 


3O  ASHES  OF   EMPIRE. 

citement :  "  I  am  going  to  get  all  our  bread  and  the 
three  bottles  of  wine  !  " 

She  dropped  her  sister's  hand  and  ran  back  through 
the  shop  to  the  kitchen,  talking  all  the  while  excitedly 
to  herself;  "  quick !  quick!  first  the  wine — then  a 
glass — no,  three  glasses — now,  the  bread — all  of  it — 
now  a  little  basket — ah,  mon  dieu  !  where  is  my  little 
basket?  Oh,  there  you  are;  and  there  is  a  brioche  in 
you,  too  !  It  shall  be  eaten  by  one  of  our  brave 
soldiers  !  "  Scheherazade,  the  lioness,  sprawling  on  a 
rug  in  the  small  square  parlour,  blinked  amiably  up 
into  Yolette's  flushed  face.  The  girl  stooped  and 
gave  her  a  hasty  kiss  in  passing — then  ran  out  with 
the  basket,  closing  the  door  quickly  behind  her. 

The  street  was  a  turmoil.  A  torrent  of  dust  flooded 
with  sunset  light  rolled  and  eddied  above  the  red  caps 
of  the  passing  troops.  Strange  timid  eyes  sought 
hers,  strange  eager  faces  rose  up  before  her  and  passed 
on,  blotted  out  in  the  whirls  of  crimsoned  dust.  The 
tears  sprang  to  her  eyes ;  she  could  not  speak,  but  she 
held  out  her  basket  to  the  passing  troops.  A  soldier 
somewhere  in  the  throng  cried  :  "  Is  the  wine  for  us, 
madame?"  and  another  close  beside  her  wiped  the 
red  wine  from  his  lips  with  the  sleeve  of  a  stained 
overcoat  and  passed  the  bottle  to  a  comrade,  laughing 
from  sheer  weakness. 

"  Our  poor  soldiers  !  Our  poor  soldiers  !  "  repeated 
Hilde,  holding  to  Yolette's  apron;  "See!  Look! 
Everybody  is  bringing  them  bread  and  wine  now ! 
But  you  were  the  first,  Yolette,  you  thought  of  it  first, 
my  darling! " 

Yolette  saw  nothing  distinctly  in  the  surging  crowd 
around,  but  from  every  side  spectral  faces  appeared 


APARTMENT   TO    LET.  31 

through  the  dust,  sad,  boyish  eyes  grew  brighter  as 
they  met  hers — grimy,  calloused  hands  reached  out  for 
a  morsel  of  bread  or  a  drop  of  wine. 

Already  Hilde  had  run  back  to  the  kitchen  and  re 
turned  with  a  big  china  bowl,  into  which  she  poured 
their  last  bottle  of  wine  ;  and  now  the  bowl  passed 
from  lip  to  lip  until  it  was  lost  to  sight  in  the  dust 
cloud. 

"  Everybody  is  bringing  bread  and  wine — look, 
Yolette,"  cried  Hilde;  "  Oh,  the  poor  things— the 
poor  sick  things !  Do  you  believe  they  will  all  get  a 
little  wine  ?  There  are  so  many — so  many — " 

"The  bowl  is  empty,"  began  Yolette;  but  at  that 
moment  the  dust  cloud  wavered,  grew  thinner,  whirled 
up  in  one  last  flurry  as  a  mounted  officer  galloped  by, 
then  slowly  settled  and  sifted  back  into  the  roadway. 

The  regiment  had  passed. 

Yolette  watched  the  vanishing  column  down  the 
street  until  the  dust  hid  the  last  straggler  and  the  tap, 
tap,  tap  of  the  drum  died  away.  Hilde,  standing  be 
side  her,  dried  the  tears  from  her  cheeks. 

After  a  silence  Yolette  said  :  "  If  we  are  going  to 
have  war — here — near  Paris — nobody  will  want  to  rent 
our  apartment — " 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Hilde  ;  "  it  is  a  very  nice 
apartment,  and  not  at  all  dear."  Yolette  came  back 
to  the  doorstep,  touching  the  corner  of  her  apron  to 
her  eyes. 

"  I  mean  that  if  the  Germans  do  come,  their  cannon 
balls  might  fly  over  the  rampart  there,  and  hit  our 
house.  Perhaps  nobody  would  care  to  take  an  apart 
ment  so  near  the  fortifications,  if  they  knew  that." 

"  Of  course  we  will  explain  the  danger  before  ac- 


32  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

cepting  anybody's  money,"  added  Yolette,  "  but  I  do 
hope  somebody  may  like  the  apartment.  I  don't 
know  what  we  shall  do  if  it  is  not  rented  by  October." 

She  stood  a  moment  on  the  door-step,  thinking, 
saddened  by  the  memory  of  the  regiment  that  had  just 
passed. 

Hilde  clasped  both  hands  behind  her  and  looked  up 
at  the  sky.  It  was  not  yet  dusk,  although  the  sun 
had  gone  down  behind  the  blue  forest  of  Meudon,  but 
the  fresh  sweetness  of  twilight  was  in  the  air.  Soft 
lights  lay  across  the  grassy  glacis  opposite ;  the  shrubs 
on  the  talus  moved  in  the  evening  breeze. 

Something  else  was  moving  over  there,  too — three 
sinister  figures,  shuffling  across  the  grass.  The  Mouse 
and  his  two  familiars  were  going  back  to  the  passage 
de  1'Ombre. 

As  the  Mouse  passed  he  flourished  his  cap  again 
and  called  across  the  street  something  about  being  a 
slave  to  the  ladies,  but  that  speech  had  well-nigh 
been  his  last,  for  just  as  the  shabby  trio  started  to 
traverse  the  roadway  two  horsemen  wheeled  at  a 
gallop  out  of  the  rue  Pandore,  and  one  of  them 
hustled  Bibi  la  Goutte  into  the  arms  of  Mon  Oncle, 
who  collapsed  with  a  muffled  shriek,  dragging  down 
the  Mouse  as  he  fell. 

There  is  a  Providence  for  drunkards;  there  is  also 
Hermes,  the  god  of  thieves,  otherwise  nothing  could 
have  saved  the  Mouse  and  Bibi  from  the  horses'  hoofs. 

The  two  riders  drew  bridle,  wheeled  and  turned  to 
see  what  damage  had  been  done,  as  the  Mouse  picked 
himself  out  of  the  dust  with  a  frightful  imprecation. 

One  of  the  horsemen,  who  had  impulsively  dis 
mounted,  was  immediately  set  upon  by  Bibi  and  Mon 


APARTMENT   TO   LET.  33 

Oncle.  Taken  by  surprise  he  knocked  them  both  flat 
with  his  loaded  riding  crop,  and,  jumping  back,  called 
out  in  English  : 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  Bourke,  ride  that  one-eyed 
fellow  down, — he's  got  a  knife  !  " 

The  other  horseman  set  spurs  to  his  mount  and 
sprang  at  the  Mouse.  That  ornamental  bandit  took 
to  his  heels,  lunging  out  viciously  with  his  knife  as  he 
passed  the  dismounted  man.  The  latter  slashed  the 
Mouse  twice  with  his  riding  crop,  and,  in  turn,  was 
felled  by  a  blow  with  a  club  wielded  by  the  fat  hands 
01  Mon  Oncle. 

"  Harewood  !  "  cried  Bourke,  hastily  dismounting, 
"  have  they  hurt  you  badly  ?  " 

The  fallen  man  scrambled  to  his  feet.  There  were 
two  red  streaks  on  his  face ;  his  hair  was  wet  and 
matted. 

"  No  ;  where  have  they  gone  ?  " 

"Into  that  dark  alley.  Do  you  want  to  follow 
them  ?  Hold  on,  man,  don't  tumble! — wait — I'll  give 
you  an  arm.  Are  you  badly  hurt?  By  Jove!  I  be 
lieve  you  are  ! " 

"  I'm  not ;  I'm  all  right.  I'll— I'll  just  go  over  and 
sit  down  a  moment.  Is  there  a  cut  on  m)'  head  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Bourke.  "  Come  over  to  that  house. 
I'll  ask  for  a  little  cold  water." 

He  slung  the  bridles  of  both  horses  under  his  left 
elbow,  and  with  his  right  arm  supported  his  dazed 
comrade  to  the  bird  store,  where  Hilde"  and  Yolette 
stood  watching  them  in  silent  consternation. 

"  Well,"  said  Harewood  faintly,  "  there  are  our  little 
friends  of  the  pigeons." 

Yolette  recognized  them  as  they  reached  the  side- 


34  ASHES  OF  EMPIRE. 

walk ;  Hilde"  took  one  hesitating  step  forward, 
leaned  on  Yolette's  shoulder  and  fixed  her  frightened 
eyes  on  Harewood.  That  young  man  was  so  dizzy 
that  he  could  only  accomplish  the  bow  he  attempted 
by  holding  on  to  Bourke.  Bourke  took  off  his  hat 
and  asked  for  water  ;  Yolette,  outwardly  self-possessed, 
brought  a  basin  of  water,  a  towel,  and  her  own  smell 
ing  salts,  while  Hilde  dragged  out  a  chair  and  seated 
Harewood  upon  it. 

And  now,  the  feminine  instinct  of  consolation  being 
fully  awakened  in  both  Hilde  and  Yolette,  Harewood 
was  requested  to  smell  the  smelling  salts,  and  rest  in 
the  chair,  and  sip  a  little  brandy  from  a  glass.  He 
did  as  he  was  bidden.  Bourke  expressed  his  obliga 
tions,  and  Harewood's,  in  sincere  if  not  fluent  terms  ; 
Hild£  and  Yolette  said  that  he  and  Harewood  were 
very  welcome. 

After  that  Bourke  was  too  diffident  and  Harewood 
too  dazed  to  continue  conversation  in  the  French  lan 
guage,  so  they  were  silent. 

Yolette  tore  strips  from  a  cambric  handkerchief,  and 
soaked  them  in  water,  and  looked  at  Harewood's 
damaged  head.  Hilde  turned  away.  She  could  not 
bear  to  see  suffering,  and  she  felt  that  the  young  man 
in  the  chair  was  probably  enduring  unheard-of  agony. 

Bourke  repeated  at  intervals,  "  How  is  it,  old  fellow  ? 
Better?"  until  he  remembered  that  politeness  re 
quired  him  to  say  what  he  had  to  say  in  French.  He 
stood  on  the  sidewalk,  and  looked  up  at  the  facade  of 
the  grimy  house  where  the  two  signs  hung. 

"Apartment  to  let,"  he  repeated  aloud.  Then  a 
thought  struck  him.  "  Harewood,  here's  an  apart 
ment  to  let  directly  over  our  heads.  It's  what  we're 


APARTMENT  TO   LET.  35 

looking  for — good  view  from  the  fortifications,  you 
know,  and  close  to  the  Porte  Rouge.  What  do  you 
say?  Shall  I  look  at  it?" 

"  If  you  like,"  said  Harewood  with  an  effort ; 
"  Bourke,  I  believe — I  believe  I'm  going  to  ask  you  to 
take  me  to  a  hotel.  My  noddle  goes  round  and  round, 
you  know.  I  don't  think  I  should  care  about  riding 
out  to  Saint  Cloud  to-night." 

Bourke  examined  his  comrade's  head  anxiously. 

"  We'll  have  to  ride  back  to  the  Luxembourg  quar 
ter  to  find  a  hotel,"  he  observed,  "  there  are  no  hotels 
out  here.  Can  you  stand  the  jolting  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  replied  Harewood. 

"  If  you  choose,"  continued  Bourke,  "  we  might  take 
that  apartment  now — if  it's  furnished — and  I  could 
bundle  you  into  bed  and  ride  the  horses  back  and 
have  our  traps  sent  up  to-morrow." 

He  turned  to  Hilde  and  made  his  excuses  for  using 
English  instead  of  French : 

"  I  do  not  speak  French  fluently ;  we  were  talking 
about  the  apartment  which,  I  notice,  is  to  rent  on  the 
top  floor.  Could  you  tell  me  where  I  might  find  the 
concierge  or  the  landlord  ?  " 

"  The  landlord  ?  "  repeated  Hilde  ;  "  why— why— I— 
and  my  sister  are  the  landlords." 

She  smiled  very  prettily  as  she  spoke.  Yolette's 
eyes  brightened.  Could  it  be  that  after  all  they  were 
actually  going  to  rent  their  apartment  ? 

"  It  is  furnished,"  said  Yolette,  looking  at  Harewood. 

She  spoke  wkh  reserve,  but  her  heart  beat  high  and 
two  spots  of  colour  deepened  in  her  cheeks. 

"  We  should  be  very  glad  to  rent  it,"  said  Hilde  in 
a  grave  voice ;  "  it  is  not  at  all  dear,  I  think," 


36  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

She  mentioned  the  price  diffidently. 

"  That,  of  course,  includes  heat,  light,  and  attend 
ance,"  added  Yolette,  turning  to  Harewood. 

"Gas?"  asked  Bourke. 

"  No,  candles,  monsieur.     The  fireplaces  burn  wood." 

"And  the  attendance?"  asked  Bourke,  curiously. 

"  My  sister  and  I — you  see — we  are  the  attendants," 
said  Yolette,  without  embarrassment. 

"Will  you  show  me  the  apartment  now?"  asked 
Bourke. 

"  With  pleasure,  monsieur." 

He  glanced  at  Harewood.  Harewood  nodded  back. 
Hild£  brought  a  lighted  candle  to  the  stairway,  and 
Yolette  took  it,  inviting  Bourke,  with  a  gesture,  to 
follow. 

When  they  had  gone  away  up  the  stairs,  Hilde  re 
turned  to  Harewood  and  stood  a  moment,  silent. 
Presently  she  went  out  to  the  street  and  caressed  the 
two  horses.  They  turned  their  gentle  heads  and 
looked  at  her  with  dark,  liquid  eyes. 

"  Are  you  fond  of  horses  ?  "  asked  Harewood,  sitting 
upright,  and  touching  the  bandage  on  his  throbbing 
head. 

"  I  love  all  animals,"  said  Hilde,  seriously. 

She  came  back  to  the  chair  where  he  was  seated. 

"  Does  your  head  hurt  very  much  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,  thank  you,  it  is  nothing  at  all." 

After  a  moment  she  said  :  "  I  ought  to  tell  you, 
monsieur,  before  you  decide  to  take  the  apartment, 
there  is  one  very  serious  drawback  to  it." 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  enquired  Harewood,  absently. 

"  The  location." 

"  The  location  ?" 


APARTMENT  TO   LET.  37 

"  Yes.  If  the  Germans  should  come  and  fire  cannon 
at  the  city,  I — I  fear  that  our  house  is  very  much  ex 
posed."  Harewood  looked  narrowly  at  the  girl  beside 
him.  Her  clear  brown  eyes  met  his  quite  simply. 

"  In  that  event,  what  would  you  yourself  do,  mad 
emoiselle  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  replied. 

Bourke  came  down  the  stairs,  holding  the  candle  for 
Yolette. 

"  It's  very  nice,  very  nice  indeed,"  he  said.  "  I 
think  we  ought  to  take  it,  Harewood — I  do,  indeed." 

Harewood  raised  his  eyes  at  Bourke's  somewhat  en 
thusiastic  recital  of  the  charms  of  a  top-floor  apart 
ment  in  the  shabbiest  quarter  of  Paris. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said,  "  we  will  take  it." 

"  But — but  we  must  tell  you  something  first — a  draw 
back  to  the  location,"  began  Yolette,  and  then  stopped. 
She  was  fearful  that  if  the  new  tenants  were  warned  of 
the  danger  of  German  shells  they  might  reconsider  the 
matter.  But  she  was  bound  in  honour  to  tell,  and  she 
set  her  lips  resolutely  and  looked  at  Hilde". 

"  Oh,"  said  Harewood,  quietly,  glancing  at  Bourke, 
"  Mademoiselle  means  that  we  stand  a  chance  of  being 
shelled  when  the  Germans  come.  Do  you  think  that 
might  be  a  drawback,  Bourke  ?  " 

"  Pooh  !  "  said  the  latter,  briskly  ;  "  Come  on,  old 
fellow,  I'll  help  you  up  to  bed — and  a  jolly  good  bed 
it  is,  too — and  then  I'll  ride  the  horses  over  to  the 
Vaugirard.  I'll  be  back  in  an  hour." 

"  Do — do  you  really  mean  to  take  the  apartment, 
now  ?  "  asked  Yolette,  breathless. 

"  With  your  permission,"  said  Harewood,  rising  from 
his  chair  with  a  polite  inclination  of  his  bandaged  head. 


38  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

Hilde  flushed  with  happiness. 

"  Our  permission,"  repeated  Yolette.  "  O,  we  are 
very,  very  glad  to  give  it.  And  I  hope,  monsieur,  you 
will  like  the  house,  and  I  hope  that  the  cannon  balls 
will  not  come  at  all." 

Bourke  repressed  a  smile  and  said  he  hoped  they 
wouldn't. 

Harewood  added  seriously:  "  I  am  sure  we  shall  be 
delighted — even  with  the  cannon  balls." 

Yolette  ventured  to  smile  a  little ;  Hilde  laughed 
outright.  Bourke  gave  his  arm  to  Harewood,  saying 
good-night  to  Hilde  and  Yolette. 

When  he  had  put  Harewood  to  bed  and  tucked  him 
in,  he  came  down  stairs  again,  two  at  a  jump,  and 
vaulted  into  his  saddle. 

As  he  galloped  toward  the  rue  de  Vaugirard,  leading 
Harewood's  horse,  far  away  on  the  horizon  a  rocket 
mounted  toward  the  stars,  higher,  higher,  until  the 
wake,  showering  the  night  with  nebulous  radiance, 
wavered,  faded  and  went  out.  And,  as  he  looked, 
another  rocket  whizzed  upward  from  the  Point-du-Jour, 
leaving  a  double  trail  of  incandescent  dust  crowned 
with  clustered  lights  which  drifted  eastward  and  went 
out,  one  by  one.  Then  night  blotted  the  last  live 
spark  from  the  sky0 

Bourke  turned  in  his  saddle. 

Over  the  forts  of  the  south  the  rim  of  a  crimson 
disk  appeared — a  circle  of  smouldering  fire,  slowly 
rising  like  a  danger  signal,  red  as  blood. 

It  was  the  harvest  moon  of  September. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

THE  HOUSE   ON   THE   RAMPARTS. 

THE  sun  was  shining  through  the  blinds  when 
Harewood  awoke.  He  lay  quite  still  examining  his 
new  surroundings,  trying  to  remember  where  he  was. 
The  bandage  on  his  head  had  stiffened ;  he  untied  it, 
and  was  gratified  to  discover  that  no  serious  damage 
had  been  accomplished  by  Mon  Oncle. 

As  he  lay  there,  winking  amiably  in  the  sunlight,  he 
heard  somebody  tramping  about  in  the  next  room. 
Without  moving,  he  opened  his  mouth  and  called : 

"  Bourke  !  " 

"  Hello  !  "  came  the  answer. 

"  What  time  is  it  ?  " 

"  Half  past  seven  !     I'm  nearly  dressed." 

"  Is  to-day  Saturday?" 

"  Saturday,  tenth  of  September,  eighteen  hundred 
and  seventy,"  replied  Bourke.  A  moment  later  he  ap 
peared  at  the  door  and  enquired,  "  How's  your 
noddle  ?  " 

"All  right,"  yawned  Harewood,  "how's  your 
own  ?  " 

Bourke  sat  down  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  and  buttoned 
his  collar,  whistling  gaily. 

"  I  saw  Shannon  and  Malet  last  night,"  he  said  ; 
"  I  met  them  on  the  boulevard  Montparnasse  after  I 


4O  ASHES   OF  EMPIRE. 

stabled  the  horses.  They  are  coming  this  morning. 
I  asked  them  to  wire  Stauffer  and  Speyer." 

Harewood  sniffed. 

"  Stauffer  seems  to  be  all  right,"  he  observed,  "  but 
I  can't  stand  Speyer." 

"  I  don't  like  Speyer  any  better  than  you  do,  but 
we  can't  leave  him  out  of  a  conference.  What  we've 
got  to  do  is  to  hold  a  conference  ;  I've  telegraphed 
Winston  and  Sutherland  ;  the  whole  crowd  is  to  meet 
here  at  ten  o'clock  this  morning."  Harewood  rubbed 
his  battered  head  thoughtfully. 

"  As  for  me,"  continued  Bourke,  "  I  know  what  I 
shall  say." 

"What?" 

"  This.  I'm  going  to  stay  in  Paris.  The  Times 
has  sent  me  out  to  get  all  the  news  I  can — and  get  it 
as  soon  as  I  can." 

"  And  transmit  it  as  soon  as  you  get  it — " 

"  Exactly." 

"Which  you  can't  do  if  you're  cooped  up  in  Paris  ! 
You'd  better  come  to  Saint  Cloud." 

"  Nobody  is  going  to  be  cooped  up  in  Paris.  The 
fighting  will  be  done  here,  and  the  fellows  who  leave 
Paris  will  miss  the  whole  show.  You  will  be  badly 
fooled,  my  son,  if  you  let  Winston  or  old  Sutherland 
persuade  you  to  leave  Paris." 

"  Shannon  and  Malet  won't  stay." 

"  Yes,  they  will.  I  don't  care  what  Speyer  does — 
I  hope  he  gets  out.  But,  Jim,  your  precious  Syndi 
cate  won't  thank  you  for  leaving  Paris  just  as  the 
orchestra  is  tuning  up  for  the  overture." 

"  But,"  persisted  the  other,  "  if  we  make  our  head 
quarters  at  Saint  Cloud  or  Versailles  we  can  see  the 


THE   HOUSE   ON   THE   RAMPARTS.  41 

entire  circus  and  also  have  the  wires  when  we  want 
them." 

"  No,  we  can't,"  replied  Bourke ;  u  if  Paris  is  sur 
rounded  by  the  German  armies,  Versailles  will  lie  di 
rectly  in  the  path  of  investment.  Your  instructions 
and  mine  are  to  stay  with  the  French  army.  How 
can  we,  if  we  go  to  Versailles  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Harewood,  "  I  want  to  hear  what  the 
other  fellows  say,  and  that  ought  to  carry  some  weight 
with  you,  too,"  he  added  ;  "  every  big  journal  in  New 
York  will  be  represented." 

"And  some  little  ones,  too." 

"  O,  you  mean  Speyer's?" 

Bourke  nodded  and  rose. 

"  Come,  jump  up,"  he  said,  "here's  your  tub.  I 
had  all  our  things  brought  over  last  night.  Shall  I 
pour  the  water  in  ?  There  you  are  !  Now  hurry — 
and  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  I  have  made  arrange 
ments  to  take  our  meals  in  the  house.  It  saves 
time." 

Harewood  looked  at  him. 

"  Yes — it  saves  time.  Where  do  we  take  our  break 
fast,  for  example, — with  our  hostesses  ?  " 

"  Down-sta'irs,  of  course,"  said  Bourke,  briskly  ;  4<  it 
will  be  ready  before  you  are.  Get  up."  He  went 
into  his  own  room,  whistling,  and  Harewood  sprang 
out  of  bed  and  looked  at  his  maltreated  head  in  the 
mirror. 

"  Lucky  it  wasn't  my  nose,"  he  reflected,  "  since 
I'm  to  breakfast  with  young  ladies." 

When  he  had  bathed  and  dressed,  and  stood  again 
before  the  looking  glass,  parting  and  reparting  his 
hair,  Bourke  came  and  stood  in  the  doorway.  He 


42  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

was  particularly  well  groomed,  and  evidently  aware 
of  it. 

"  The  one,"  said  Harewood,  making  a  mathemati 
cally  equal  division  of  his  hair — "  the  one  with  the 
dark  eyes,  you  know — what  is  her  name,  Bourke  ?  " 

44  Hilde,"  said  Bourke,  reflectively. 

"  Hilde— what  ?  " 

"  Hilde  Chalais.     Don't  pretend  you've  forgotten." 

"  Is  she  the  older  or  the  younger  ?  " 

"  They're  twins." 

"  How  the  devil  did  you  find  all  that  out?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Bourke  sincerely,  "  really  I 
don't  know.  Somehow  or  other  they  told  me.  I  saw 
them  last  night  when  I  came  back  from  the  Vaugirard. 
We  stood  chatting  on  the  stairs.  You  were  asleep  up 
here." 

There  was  a  silence,  then  Harewood  spoke  up  im 
patiently,  "  Well,  what  did  they  say  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  The  whole  thing  is  funny,  anyway. 
It  seems  we  are  living  over  a  bird  store.  They  told 
me  the  story.  Do  you  want  to  hear  it  ?  " 

"Go  on." 

"  Well,  it  appears  that  those  two  young  girls  have 
been  keeping  house  here  for  a  year.  Before  that  their 
uncle  kept  it.  His  name  was  Chalais  ;  he  was  erratic, 
I  believe — a  sort  of  soured  savant.  Anyway,  he  died 
a  year  ago,  and  these  two  girls  had  to  leave  their  con 
vent  school  and  come  here  and  run  the  place.  I  guess 
they  haven't  any  too  much  money  ;  I  believe  old  Cha 
lais  left  nothing  but  debts  and  birds  and  a  few  curses 
for  the  government  that  refused  him  a  berth.  Two 
young  German  students  had  this  apartment  for  sev 
eral  months,  but  they  left  without  paying  their  rent, 


THE   HOUSE   ON  THE   RAMPARTS.  43 

and  I  fancy  nobody  has  been  here  since.  That's  all  I 
know." 

Harewood  tied  his  necktie  twice  before  it  satisfied 
him. 

"Rather  tough  on  them,  wasn't  it?"  he  said. 
"  You  say  they  are  poor?  " 

"Yes.     I'm  glad  we  took  the  apartment.*' 

"The — the  one  with  brown  eyes — what  did  you  say 
her  name  is?"  asked  Harewood,  without  turning. 

"  I  said  her  name  is  Hilde","  said  Bourke,  drily. 
"The  other  is  named  Yolette.  They  are  both  pretty." 

"Yes.  They're  both  extremely  ornamental,"  ad 
mitted  Harewood. 

Bourke  looked  at  him  sharply,  saying: 

"  And  they're  as  innocent  as  two  kittens.  You 
might  as  well  know  that.  I  don't  mean  wishy-washy. 
I  mean  they're  really  absolutely  and  deliciously 
good.  O,  you  can  see  it  at  a  glance.  By  the  way; 
did  you  ever  see  such  a  perfect  combination  of  deep 
blue  eyes  and  silky  purple-black  hair,  with  a  skin  like 
snow — " 

"As—?" 

"  As  Yolette's." 

"  O,  I've  seen  that  in  Ireland — often,"  replied  Hare- 
wood,  "  but  I  never  before  assisted  at  the  colour  sym 
phony  which  her  sister  presents — brown  eyes,  and  gilt- 
coloured  hair." 

"  Gilt !  "  laughed  Bourke  ;  "  nice  way  you  have  of 
putting  things." 

"  O,  well,  come  on,  I'm  ready.  Does  this  bump  on 
my  head  show  much?" 

When  they  reached  the  stairway  that  led  into  the 
bird  store,  Hilde  met  them  with  shy  reserve,  and  led 


44  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

the  way  across  the  hall.  They  followed  her  to  the  par 
lour,  which  was  also  the  dining-room.  Yolette  sat  at  a 
small  mahogany  table,  solemnly  watching  the  steaming 
kettle.  She  raised  her  clear  eyes  as  they  entered  and 
said  good-morning  with  a  smile  that  was  at  once 
apprehensive  and  confiding.  The  two  young  men 
made  their  bows.  Then  Yolette  poured  the  cafe-au- 
lait.  Her  manner  was  that  of  a  very  young  person 
unexpectedly  burdened  with  tremendous  responsibil 
ities,  which  must  be  borne  with  self-possession. 

"  My  sister  and  I,"  began  Yolette,  "dine  at  seven — 
would  that  hour  suit  you,  messieurs?" 

She  spoke  to  both,  looking  at  Bourke,  perhaps  be 
cause  Harewood  was  looking  at  Hilde. 

The  two  young  men  became  at  once  very  fluent  in 
the  French  language.  They  explained  with  one  voice 
that  the  regime  of  the  house  should  be  established  on 
one  basis,  namely,  the  convenience  of  their  hostesses. 
They  explained  that  neither  of  them  was  to  be  con 
sidered  for  one  moment,  and  they  added  that  they  de 
sired  to  make  some  amends  for  the  trouble  they  would 
give  by  placing  their  services  at  the  disposal  of  their 
hostesses.  Perhaps  this  was  not  the  usual  method  of 
settling  a  business  relation,  but  it  answered  to  perfec 
tion,  and  before  long  the  young  girls  felt  their  formal 
ity  and  shyness  melting  like  frost  at  sunrise. 

And  how  prettily  they  laughed  at  the  young  men's 
discomfiture  when  Scheherazade,  the  lioness,  bounded 
silently  into  the  room  and  sprang  on  to  the  sofa. 

She  lay  there  purring  and  licking  her  padded  paws, 
her  tawny  eyes  mildly  blinking  at  the  company.  Yo 
lette  ran  over  and  leaned  on  the  sofa  beside  her,  one 
cheek  pressed  against  the  creature's  velvety  head. 


THE   HOUSE   ON   THE   RAMPARTS.  45 

"  Her  ancestors  for  generations  have  been  born  in 
captivity,"  explained  Hilde  to  Harewood.  "  There  is 
no  more  harm  in  her  than  in  any  house  cat.  My 
uncle  brought  her  up  ;  my  sister  and  I  have  always 
played  with  her." 

"  Were  you  startled,"  Yolette  said  to  Bourke. 
"  Won't  you  come  and  be  introduced  ?  "  Bourke  went 
a  little  slowly ;  the  lioness,  pleasantly  indifferent,  suf 
fered  him  to  pat  her  head. 

Harewood  contented  himself  with  a  distant  observa 
tion  of  the  splendid  animal,  and  remained  where, 
without  seeming  to,  he  could  watch  Hilde  moving 
swiftly  back  and  forth  between  the  kitchen  and  parlour, 
removing  cups  and  saucers  and  laying  a  cloth  over  the 
mahogany  table. 

"  This  room  is  also  the  smoking-room,"  she  said, 
gravely,  as  she  passed  the  table  with  her  arms  full  of 
cups  and  plates ;  "  it  was  my  uncle's  custom  to  smoke 
here  at  all  times." 

She  stood  looking  down  at  Harewood,  a  faint 
smile  in  her  brown  eyes.  Then  she  glanced  at  her 
sister. 

"Of  course,"  said  Yolette,  "it  will  be  pleasant  to 
have  the  odour  of  tobacco  in  the  house  again."  As  be 
fore  she  looked  at  Bourke  when  she  spoke,  and  he,  ac 
cepting  the  permission  as  a  command,  lighted  his 
cigarette  with  a  cheerful  alacrity  that  made  them  all 
laugh. 

The  morning  sun  poured  into  the  room ;  from  the 
shop  outside  came  the  twittering  of  the  birds,  the 
chatter  of  the  squirrel  and  sharp  screams  from  the 
parrot. 

"Would  you  care  to  see  them?"  asked  Hilde,  still 


46  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

looking  down  at  Harewood.  "  I  will  go  with  you 
when  I  have  taken  away  the  cups." 

"  Nevermind  the  cups,"  said  Yolette ;  "  I  will  take 
them.  It  is  time  to  change  the  water  for  the  birds, 
HildeV' 

Hilde  went  into  the  kitchen  with  the  cups,  and  re 
turned  carrying  a  pitcher  of  fresh  water.  Harewood 
followed  her,  bowing  to  Yolette.  She  and  Bourke 
were  standing  on  either  side  of  the  lioness,  pulling  her 
ears  and  rubbing  her  hair  the  wrong  way — attentions 
which  Scheherazade  majestically  ignored. 

Presently  Yolette  laid  her  head  against  the  crea 
ture's  cheek,  murmuring  alternate  terms  of  endear 
ment  and  reproof.  The  lioness  closed  her  eyes  and 
purred  ecstatically. 

"  What  is  her  name?"  asked  Bourke. 

"  Scheherazade.  Her  father's  name  was  Djebe.  His 
father's  name  was  Ghenghis  Kahn.  I  have  the  pedi 
gree  in  a  book.  I  will  show  it  to  you  some  day.  I  am 
sure  you  think  this  is  a  strange  household — full  of  lions 
and  monkeys  and  birds.  As  for  me,  I  should  be  very 
lonely  without  them  ;  I  have  lived  in  the  midst  of 
them  ever  since  I  can  remember,  except  when  Hilde" 
and  I  were  at  the  Ursalines,"  she  continued,  pulling 
Scheherazade's  toes.  "  Although  we  keep  a  bird  store, 
Hilde"  and  I  can't  bear  to  sell  our  birds.  We  grow  so 
fond  of  them — but,  of  course,  we  are  obliged  to  sell 
them.  We  have  sold  none  at  all  since  the  war  began, 
although  every  week  we  have  a  place  at  the  bird  mar 
ket  by  the  Hotel  de  Ville.  Tell  me,  monsieur,  were 
you  frightened  when  you  first  saw  Scheherazade  ?  " 

"  Scared  to  death,"  admitted  Bourke  gravely. 

Yolette  dragged  Scheherazade's  big  lazy  head  up  to 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  RAMPARTS.        47 

her  own  face  and  laughed  gaily.  "  I  meant  to  tell 
you  about  my  lion,  but  I  forgot.  You  must  like  her 
— won't  you  ?  " 

Bourke  patted  the  lion's  paws  discreetly.  He  was 
pleased  to  find  that  she  had  no  claws. 

"  Of  course  I  shall  like  her ;  I  am  quite  in  love  with 
her  now,"  he  said  with  a  little  more  confidence  for 
this  discovery — "  only — I  hope  she'll  know  me  in  the 
dark—" 

Yolette  laughed  again. 

"  Perhaps  you  and  Monsieur  Harewood  had  better 
give  me  back  the  latchkeys,  then — " 

"  No,"  said  Bourke,  "  I  think  we'll  retain  them,  if 
you  will  just  remind  her  that  late  suppers  produce 
indigestion.  And — er — will  you  show  me  where  she 
keeps  herself  at  night  ?  " 

Yolette,  greatly  amused,  assented,  rising  lightly, 
and  dragging  Scheherazade  with  her.  Bourke  followed 
through  the  kitchen,  along  a  hallway  and  out  into  a 
garden  full  of  trees  and  paths,  surrounded  by  high 
stucco  walls.  A  stone  trough  filled  with  very  clear 
running  water  stood  in  the  deep  grass  under  the 
shadow  of  the  wall.  Beyond  this  stretched  a  tangle 
of  grass,  roses  and  fruit  trees. 

"  This  is  Scheherazade's  playground,"  said  the  girl, 
picking  up  a  big  painted  rubber  ball.  Straightening 
up,  she  tossed  the  ball  out  into  the  grass  with  the 
charming  awkwardness  that  attacks  the  gentler  sex 
when  throwing  or  catching  anything. 

The  lioness,  much  gratified,  bounded  after  the  ball, 
seized  it,  patted  it  first  with  one  paw,  then  with  the 
other,  and  finally  lay  down,  biting  the  ball  and 
scratching  it  with  her  hind  toes. 


4$  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

Bourke  observed  this  pleasing  performance  in  si 
lence.  When  Scheherazade  gambolled  and  frisked  he 
nodded  approval  ;  when  she  loped  heavily  off  to  a 
thicket  of  rose  bushes,  carrying  the  ball  in  her  mouth, 
he  expressed  himself  as  edified.  But,  to  tell  the 
truth,  he  was  far  from  experiencing  that  sense  of  re 
pose  in  the  company  of  Scheherazade  that  he  felt  was 
expected  of  him. 

"  It's  a  fine  lion,"  he  said  after  a  moment  or  two  ; 
"but  perhaps  one  needs  time  to  appreciate  lions. 
Shall  we  go  and  examine  the  birds?" 

Yolette  smiled  and  said  yes,  and  led  the  way  into 
the  bird  store. 

Harewood  and  Hilde,  standing  together  by  the 
window,  looked  up  quickly  as  Yolette  entered.  At 
the  same  moment  Hilde  dropped  the  pitcher  of  water. 

"  Why,  Hilde,"  exclaimed  Yolette,  "you  have 
broken  our  blue  pitcher !  Dear  me  !  Look  at  the 
floor!  " 

Hilde's  consternation  and  Harewood's  forced  gaiety 
jarred  on  Bourke.  He  looked  at  Hilda's  flushed  face, 
then  at  his  comrade,  who  returned  his  glance  mutin 
ously.  Yolette  brought  a  mop :  Hilde,  with  a  breath 
less  smile  at  her  sister,  picked  up  a  fragment  of  the 
pitcher's  handle  and  held  it  at  arm's  length  until 
Harewood  took  it  and  set  himself  to  gather  up  the 
other  scattered  bits  of  blue  china. 

"  You  see,"  he  said  lightly.  "  I've  just  been  bitten 
by  the  squirrel  and  the  monkey,  and  I  was  courting 
further  mutilation  from  the  parrot  yonder  when  the 
pitcher  fell  and  saved  me.  Mademoiselle,  I  am  very 
sorry  that  my  salvation  was  at  the  expense  of  your 
pitcher." 


THE   HOUSE   ON   THE   RAMPARTS.  49 

"  Your  salvation  is  expensive,  but  we  must  have 
it,"  said  Bourke ;  there  was  a  touch  of  sarcasm  in  his 
voice  that  made  Harewood's  ears  tingle.  Yolette  said, 
innocently :  "  Monsieur  Harewood,  the  birds  and 
creatures  did  not  know  you ;  therefore,  they  were 
frightened  and  they  bit.  My  sister  should  have  told 
you  about  the  parrot." 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  said  Hilde,  avoiding  Bourke's 
eyes.  "  Monsieur  Harewood  will  not  wait  to  become 
acquainted  ;  he  attempts  to  conquer  everything  at 
once,  and  birds  and  squirrels  don't  like  that." 

Bourke  transferred  his  gaze  to  Harewood. 

At  that  moment  Mehemet  AH,  the  gray  and  scarlet 
African  parrot,  climbed  down  from  his  perch,  bit  Hare- 
wood,  and  climbed  back  again,  flapping  his  wings  and 
shrieking  with  joy. 

"  Now,"  said  Harewood,  "  I  suppose  I  may  be  re 
ceived  into  the  family  circle.  Everything  has  bitten 
me — except  that  jackdaw.  Does  he  bite,  mademoi 
selle  ?  " 

Hilde  seemed  more  distressed  than  there  appeared 
reason  for,  and  said  "  No  "  in  such  a  discouraged  voice 
that  both  Yolette  and  Bourke  laughed  outright. 

"  Won't  you  introduce  me,  too  ? "  said  Bourke. 
"  Won't  you  take  me  around  to  be  bitten  ?  " 

"  Not  now,"  said  Yolette.  "  I  must  find  Red  Rid 
ing  Hood  and  go  to  the  kitchen."  She  took 
Hilde's  hand  and  they  moved  towards  the  door. 

"  Luncheon  at  one  ?  "  asked  Bourke. 

"  At  one,  monsieur,"  and  they  vanished  with  a  light 
swish  of  skirts,  closing  the  door  that  led  to  the  kitchen 
beyond. 

Bourke    and    Harewood    walked    out  to   the  front 


50  ASHES  OF  EMPIRE. 

door  and  sat  down  on  the  step. 

After  a  short  period  of  meditation  Bourke  said  : 
"  Jim,  do  you  agree  with  me  in  saying  that  our  hos 
tesses  are  as  innocent  as  two  white  kittens  ?  " 

"  Why  white  kittens?  "  asked  Harewood,  argumen- 
tatively,  and  added,  "  of  course  they  are." 

"Well,"  continued  Bourke,  "because  they  are  so 
innocent,  it  would  be  a  shame  to  disturb  them — I 
mean  to  attempt  any  fool  flirtation.  Wouldn't  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  say  that  to  me,"  said  Hare- 
wood,  sharply. 

"  I  only  meant — for  myself  as  well  as  you — that 
we've  got  to  be  careful.  You  know  as  well  as  I  do 
that  what  is  called  flirtation  in  America  is  not  under 
stood  in  France.  They  would  take  anything  like  that 
seriously." 

Harewood  was  silent. 

"  Of  course,  I'm  more  or  less  susceptible  to  a  pretty 
face,"  continued  Bourke  ;  "  so  are  you,  if  your  repu 
tation  doesn't  belie  you — " 

"  Let  my  reputation  alone,"  interrupted  Harewood. 

"Yes,  it's  not  a  subject  for  analytical  discussion. 
As  I  say,  I'm  not  insensible  myself;  but  in  this  case 
we — in  short — we  absolutely  must  not  make  asses  of 
ourselves." 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,"  enquired  Harewood, 
crossly. 

"  The  matter  is,  that  I  think  we  had  better  be  clear 
about  this  situation  from  the  beginning.  Heaven 
knows  we  shall  be  busy  enough  with  our  own  affairs — 
and  they  will  be  with  theirs,  and  as  for  our  leisure 
hours,  if  we  have  any,  don't  you  think  we  can  employ 
them  more  safely  than  in  hanging  around  two  danger 
ously  pretty  girls  ?  " 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  RAMPARTS.  5 1 

"  Can't  a  man  talk  to  them  without  making  love  to 
them?"  demanded  Harewood,  hotly. 

"Can  you  ?"  asked  Bourke  in  his  turn. 

Harewood  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  I  can  behave 
myself,"  he  observed,  "  if  I  try." 

"  You  never  have,"  retorted  Bourke.  "  It's  as  nat 
ural  to  you  to  make  love  as  it  is  to  breathe.  You 
never  are  serious  and  you  usually  make  mischief  some 
way  or  other.  You  can't  say  I  ever  interfered  before, 
but  I  tell  you,  Jim,  I  think  it  would  be  a  damned 
shame  to  trouble  the  peace  of  mind  of  Hild£  Chalais." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Harewood.  "  Let's  drop  the  sub 
ject." 

They  stood  up,  looking  at  each  other.  Harewood 
coloured  and  laughed. 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  he  said,  "  I've  gone  too  far  already, 
Cecil." 

"  Already  ?  "  cried  Bourke,  incredulously. 

"Yes!" 

"Good  heavens!"  groaned  Bourke,  "you  don't 
mean  to  say  you've  begun  already  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I'm  sorry  ;  it  was  thoughtless — " 

"  You — you  haven't  made  love  to  her  in  these  few 
minutes?  Jim,  it's  impossible  !  " 

Harewood  moved  uneasily. 

"Have  you?" 

"  Yes,  I  have." 

"Seriously?  " 

"  Not  very." 

"You— you  didn't  kiss  her.''" 

Harewood  was  silent. 

Bourke  looked  at  him  in  amazement. 

"Not  Hilde?" 


52  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

Harewood  did  not  answer. 

After  a  moment's  silence  Bourke  sat  down  on  the 
steps  and  swore  under  his  breath.  Harewood  stood 
by,  restless  and  ashamed. 

"  You  understand,  Cecil/'  he  said,  in  a  low  voice, 
"  that  was  a  confession — not  a  boast.  I'm  damned 
sorry — she  looked  so  dainty  and  sweet — you  know 
how  thoughtless  I  am  about  such  things — 

"O,  hang  it  all!"  burst  out  Bourke,  "what  do  I 
care !  If  a  girl  lets  a  man  kiss  her  like  that — by  Jove, 
she  can  take  the  consequences  !  " 

Harewood  wanted  to  speak,  but  Bourke  interrupted 
him. 

"  I  was  mistaken  in  the  girl,  that's  all.  She  looks 
as  innocent  as  a  white  kitten  behind  a  milk  jug — and 
she  is — just  as  innocent.  They're  all  alike,  anyway.  Go 
on  and  spoon,  if  you  choose  ;  it's  none  of  my  business." 

Harewood  murmured  ;  "  Cecil,  you  don't  think — " 

"  No,"  interrupted  Bourke,"!  don't  think  you're  a 
blackguard,  Jim,  but  it's  a  selfish  pastime,  this  useless 
awakening  of  a  woman's  heart.  What  I  fear  is  that 
you  and  Hilde  will  get  into  a  desperate  love  affair, 
and  it  will  perhaps  leave  one  of  you  unhappy.  And 
that  won't  be  you,  you  know,  Jim." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  other  :  a  queer  light  flashed 
in  his  eyes  for  a  moment,  then  he  laughed.  "Any 
way,  don't  take  it  seriously.  We  were  standing  close 
together  when  that  damned  monkey  bit  me.  Hilde 
cried '  Oh  !  '  so  prettily  and  looked  so  grieved — and  I — 
I  just  put  my  arm  around  her  waist ;  then  she  looked 
at  me  so — well — so — so — O,  the  devil !  how  do  I 
know ;  let's  forget  it,  won't  you  ?  There  are  some 
things  a  man  ought  to  shut  up  about." 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  RAMPARTS.        53 

"  I  don't  ask  your  confidence,"  said  Cecil,  morosely. 

"  You're  the  only  man  who  has  ever  had  it.  As  for 
this  child — the  whole  incident  was  innocent  and  harm 
less  enough.  I've  half  forgotten  it ;  and  she  will,  com 
pletely,  in  no  time  at  all." 

"All  right,"  said  Bourke;  "here  come  Winston 
and  Sutherland.  They're  on  time  ;  it's  just  ten." 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE   MIRRORED   FACE. 

THE  household  duties  finished,  the  birds  regaled 
with  seed  and  water,  Yolette  went  out,  as  she  always 
did,  into  the  tangled  garden  for  a  romp  with  Scheher 
azade,  calling  Hilde  to  follow.  But  Hilde  had  slipped 
away  to  her  own  silent  chamber,  where,  in  the  half 
light,  pale  sunspots  moved  on  the  lowered  curtains 
and  one  dusty  sunbeam  slanted  through  the  dusk. 

She  sank  into  an  easy-chair,  head  thrown  back,  eyes 
wide  open,  gazing  at  nothing — at  the  motes  sifting 
through  the  bands  of  sunlight— at  the  tracery  of  a 
vine  outside  the  window-sill,  shadowed  on  the  lowered 
curtain,  that  moved  when  breezes  swayed  the  leaves. 
But  she  saw  neither  shadow  nor  sunlight,  nor  the 
white  walls  of  the  room,  nor  the  white  curtains  of  the 
bed.  There  was  but  one  thing  before  her  eyes— 
Harewood's  face,  bending  close  to  hers — closer  still 
and  she  lay  back  in  the  chair,  breathless,  fascinated. 

Consternation  for  what  she  had  done  gave  place  to 
wonder.  She  strove  to  understand  why — she  at 
tempted  to  begin  at  the  beginning  of  things.  The 
beginning  of  things,  for  her,  was  not  far  away — scarcely 
an  hour  back.  And  yet  it  was  no  use — no  use  to  try 
to  remember  how  it  had  happened. 

A  passing  cloud  blotted  the  dappled  sunshine   from 


THE   MIRRORED   FACE.  55 

the  curtains  ;  the  room  grew  very  dim  and  still.  An 
apathy,  mental  and  physical,  fell  upon  her  ;  her  eyes 
drooped  until  the  dark  lashes  rested  on  her  cheeks, 
her  limbs  seemed  heavy  and  numb. 

Presently  the  shaft  of  sunlight  stole  across  the  dusk 
again  ;  she  raised  one  hand,  touching  her  face  with 
listless  fingers.  Her  eyes  and  cheeks  were  wet  with 
tears. 

There  was  a  niche  in  the  wall  over  the  bed  where  a 
faience  figure  of  Sainte  Hilde  of  Carhaix  stood,  robed 
in  blue  and  gold.  She  turned  her  eyes  to  the  Sainte 
and  leaned  forward  in  the  dusk  ;  but  perhaps  she  had 
nothing  to  say  to  this  other  Hilde  of  Carhaix;  per 
haps  she  did  not  know  what  to  say,  for  her  head 
drooped  and  she  sank  back  in  the  arm-chair,  idly  twist 
ing  her  white  fingers.  The  tears  dried  quickly,  for 
there  was  nothing  of  bitterness  in  her  heart,  only 
a  constant  wonder,  an  eternal  childish  question, 
"  Why  ?  "  And  always  before  her  she  saw  Harewood's 
face,  touched  with  an  indefinable  smile,  bending  close, 
closer  yet  to  her  own. 

Up  stairs  Harewood  himself  was  sitting  on  the  edge 
of  Bourke's  bed,  dispensing  tobacco  and  liquid  nourish 
ment  to  half  a  dozen  fellow  countrymen  who  filled 
the  room  with  pipe  smoke  and  sprawled  on  the  furni 
ture,  listening  to  Bourke. 

Bourke  finished  speaking,  modestly,  looking  at 
Sutherland  for  approval.  The  latter  touched  his 
grizzled  moustache  thoughtfully  and  gazed  at  the  car- 
petless  floor. 

Speyer  began  to  speak,  but  subsided  when  Suther 
land  looked  up  at  him. 

"What  Bourke  says,"  began  Sutherland,  "is  some- 


56  ASHES  OF  EMPIRE. 

'•. 

tiling  I  can  neither  deny  nor  approve.  He  affirms 
that  it  is  not  possible  for  the  German  armies  to  iso 
late  Paris  from  the  outside  world  ;  he  says  that  if  we 
remain  in  Paris  we  shall  be  able  to  communicate  with 
our  respective  journals.  Whether  or  not  this  turns 
out  to  be  the  case,  I  myself  have  decided  to  leave  the 
city.  Personally  I  don't  care  whether  Fm  with  the 
French  or  German  army.  If  the  Germans  invest  Paris 
and  enter  Versailles,  I  fancy  it  will  change  nothing  as 
far  as  the  censorship  is  concerned." 

"  German  censors  are  worse  than  French — if  any 
one  should  ask  you,"  observed  Winston. 

"  They're  all  of  a  stripe,"  grumbled  Harewood,  who 
had  more  red  pencil  on  his  despatches  than  the  rest  of 
the  foreign  correspondents  put  together. 

Sutherland  laughed,  returning  his  pipe  to  the  mo 
rocco  case,  and  looked  at  Bourke  with  kindly  eyes. 

"As  long  as  you  and  Harewood  are  expected  to 
stick  to  the  French  army,"  he  said,  "  I  suppose  you 
ought  to  stay  in  Paris.  As  for  Winston,  and  Shannon, 
and  George  Malet — they  are  free  to  go  where  they 
please,  and  if  I'm  anything  of  a  prophet  they  had  better 
steer  clear  of  Paris." 

"You  mean  you  think  that  there'll  be  nothing 
much  to  see  in  Paris?  "  asked  Harewood,  anxiously. 

Sutherland  caressed  his  double  chin. 

"  There  will  be  plenty  to  see — perhaps  more  to  see 
than  there  will  be  to  eat,"  he  replied  slowly. 

Bourke  raised  his  glass  impatiently,  saying  ;  "  Well, 
here's  to  you,  prophet  of  evil !  " 

Sutherland  smiled  at  him,  and  picked  up  his  hat. 

"  I'm  an  oW  codger,"  said  the  great  war  correspond 
ent.  "  I  need  the  luxury  of  a  meal  at  least  once  a 


THE   MIRRORED   FACE.  57 

week.  Perhaps  I'm  unreasonable,  but  I'm  not  fond  of 
horse  flesh,  either.  Bourke,  if  you  think  you  ought  to 
stay  in  Paris  " — he  held  out  a  heavy,  sunburned  hand — 
"  I'll  say  good-by,  and  good  luck  to  you  and  to  Hare- 
wood,  the  hare-brained  suckling  of  journalism." 

In  the  laughter  and  shouts  of  "  Here's  to  you,  Jim  ! 
Don't  let  the  censor  bully  you !  Take  away  his  red 
pencil ! "  Bourke  jumped  to  his  feet,  and  shook 
hands  with  them  all,  including  Speyer. 

"  Good  luck,  all  of  you  !  "  he  cried  heartily.  "  Jim 
and  I  will  take  our  chances." 

"  I  don't  get  my  stuff  through  anyway,  so  if  we're 
blocked  up  here  it  won't  matter,"  said  Harewood.  As 
he  followed  them  to  the  door  Speyer  offered  him  a 
flabby  hand. 

"  I  wish  you  luck,"  he  said  with  a  furtive  sneer  ;  "  I 
know  this  house  ;  you  will  be  well  lodged ;  the  ladies 
are  delightful." 

Harewood  withdrew  his  hand  roughly. 

"  What's  that  ?  "  he  demanded.  But  Speyer  hurried 
away  down  the  stairs,  arm  in  arm  with  Stauffer,  whose 
weak  blonde  face  was  convulsed  with  laughter. 

"  Did  you  hear  what  he  said,  Bourke  ?  "  asked  Hare- 
wood.  "  I  didn't  know  he'd  ever  been  here.  What  a 
sneaking,  sneering  brute  he  is !  " 

"  Who  cares,"  said  Bourke,  "  we're  not  obliged  to 
see  him,  are  we  ?  Well,  Jim,  what  do  you  think,  shall 
we  stay  here  or  go  with  the  others  ?  " 

"  O,  of  course,  if  you  insist  on  staying — " 

"  But  I  don't,"  laughed  Bourke. 

"You,  don't?  What  about  our  instructions  to 
remain  with  the  French  army  ?  " 

"Pooh!''  said    Bourke.     "We    can    cable   that  it's 


60  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

fear  ;  it  was  self-disgust.  There  were  many  other  occa 
sions  when,  being  on  good  terms  with  himself,  he  had 
taken  the  tenderest  care  of  his  precious  person.  This 
self-solicitude  was  not  normal  prudence — it  was  a  form 
of  fierce  selfishness  that  attacked  him  like  an  intermit 
tent  disease.  Some  day,  he  was  thinking  now,  it 
might  attack  him  at  the  wrong  moment ;  and  at  such 
moments  the  hesitation  of  selfishness  is  known  as  cow 
ardice. 

As  he  leaned  there,  before  the  mirror,  looking 
blankly  into  his  own  handsome  eyes,  something  of 
this  came  to  him  in  a  sudden  flash  that  shocked  him  ; 
for  the  idea  of  personal  cowardice  had  never  entered 
his  mind. 

The  bare  possibility  of  such  a  thing  made  him  loathe 
himself.  He  gazed,  startled,  at  that  other  face  in  the 
mirror  as  though  he  had  detected  a  criminal — a  secret 
assassin  of  himself  who  had  fawned  and  flattered  him 
through  all  those  years — a  treacherous  thing  that  now 
suddenly  leered  at  him,  unmasked,  malignant,  trium 
phant. 

In  that  bitter  moment,  as  he  stared  back  at  the  face 
in  the  mirror,  he  realised  for  the  first  time  in  his  life 
that  he  had  detected  himself.  Hitherto  his  fits  of 
depression  and  repentance  had  been  followed  by  noth 
ing  but  self-contempt,  which  led  to  recklessness.  Now 
he  saw  more ;  he  saw  his  own  soul,  warped  and  twisted 
with  egotism ;  he  saw  the  danger  of  the  future,  the 
possibilities  of  ruin  and  disgrace,  the  end  of  everything 
for  a  man  in  this  world — detected  cowardice  ! 

And  he  realised  something  else,  something  still 
more  amazing  ;  he  realised  that  for  the  last  ten  minutes 
there  had  been  two  faces  in  the  mirror  before  him — 


THE   MIRRORED   FACE.  6l 

one,  his  own,  sombre  and  marred  with  boyish  cynicism, 
the  other  a  vaguer  face,  a  face  of  shadows  faintly 
tinged  with  colour — a  dim,  wistful  face>  pure  and  sensi- 
•  tive  as  a  child's — a  face  whose  wide,  brown  eyes  were 
fixed  on  his,  asking  a  question  that  his  soul  alone 
could  answer. 

He  straightened  up  with  an  effort.  Presently  he 
began  to  pace  the  room.  Who  was  this  girl — this 
child  that  haunted  the  solitude  of  his  egotism — whose 
memory  persisted  among  all  the  other  memories  ?  Had 
he  harmed  her?  Had  the  idle  caress  of  a  moment  left 
him  responsible?  In  the  impulse  to  answer  this  he 
turned  to  cynicism  for  aid,  but  it  gave  him  no  aid, 
and  when  he  tried  to  understand  why  this  thought 
should  occupy  him,  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that 
there  existed  such  a  thing  as  moral  obligation.  When 
he  had  clearly  established  this  in  his  mind,  he  went 
further,  and  found  that  he  himself  was  amenable  to  the 
moral  law — and  this  surprised  and  attracted  him.  A 
girl,  then,  had  certain  moral  rights  which  a  man  was 
bound  to  respect !  The  proposition  was  novel  and  in 
teresting. 

"If  that  is  so,"  he  said  aloud,  "  life  is  not  an  im 
promptu  performance,  but  a  devilish  serious  rehearsal!" 

He  lighted  a  cigarette  and  walked  to  the  door.  "  If 
that  is  the  proper  solution  of  life,"  he  thought,  "  it's 
not  as  amusing  as  my  solution,  but  perhaps  it  wasn't 
meant  to  be."  He  blew  a  succession  of  smoke  rings 
toward  the  ceiling.  "Any  way,  seeing  in  that  light, 
there  does  not  appear  to  be  much  opportunity  for  in 
troducing  side  steps  of  one's  own." 

By  this  time  he  had  reached  the  head  of  the  stairs 
outside  the  landing.  "  No  side  steps,"  he  repeated  ; 


62  ASHES  OF   EMPIRE. 

"no  gags,  no  specialties.      I'm  to  keep  time  to   the 
fiddle — that's  my  business." 

His  mind  was  clear  now — his  heart  lighter  than  the 
zephyrs  that  blew  fitfully  through  the  open  shop  door. 
Life  in  earnest  should  begin  for  him — a  life  of  renun 
ciation,  self-suppression,  an  even,  equitable  life,  orderly, 
decent,  and,  above  all,  morally  unselfish. 

As  he  set  foot  on  the  last  stair,  preoccupied,  en 
tranced,  hypnotized  at  the  spectacle  of  his  own  moral 
regeneration,  Hilde  turned  the  corner  of  the  hallway. 
She  blushed  when  she  saw  him  and  hesitated,  a  dis 
tracting  picture  of  perturbation. 

He  had  made  up  his  mind  to  ask  forgiveness,  to 
assure  her  of  his  esteem  for  her,  to  acknowledge  his 
inexcusable  fault.  That's  what  he  had  come  down 
stairs  for.  But  now,  when  he  looked  at  her,  he  real 
ised  that  it  was  too  late.  There  was  nothing  he  could 
say  which  would  not  hurt  her.  The  quality  called 
tact  is  highly  developed  in  the  selfish.  This  is  not  a 
paradox;  generosity  has  nothing  to  do  with  tact. 
Harewood's  regeneration  had  not  as  yet  robbed  him  of 
his  tact ;  so  he  said  : 

"  I  was  going  into  the  city ;  have  you  any  commis 
sion  that  I  could  execute?" 

"Thank  you,"  said  Hilde,  faintly. 

"  Perhaps  mademoiselle,  your  sister — " 

"  Thank  you,  morisieur." 

He  acquiesced  with  a  bow.  "  Monsieur  Bourke  and 
I  would  esteem  it  an  honour  to  be  entrusted  with  any 
commission  from  you,"  he  said,  stiffly,  and  marched 
down  the  steps  into  the  street. 

"  But,  monsieur,  you  have  forgotten  your  hat ! " 
cried  Hilde. 


THE   MIRRORED    FACE.  63 

In  the  absurdity  of  the  situation  his  dignity  col 
lapsed,  and  he  turned  around,  hot  with  chagrin.  Hilde 
stood  in  the  doorway,  scarlet  with  confusion  ;  for  a 
second  they  faced  each  other,  then  gravity  fled,  and  a 
gale  of  laughter  swept  the  last  traces  of  embarrass 
ment  away. 

"  Is  luncheon  ready?"  asked  Harewood,  reascend- 
ing  the  steps.  "  My  feelings  are  hurt,"  he  insisted  ; 
"  an  omelette  is  the  only  balm  I  will  consider."  Hilde 
smiled  a  little,  and  took  courage. 

"  The  balm  is  ready,"  she  said  ;  "  Yolette  and  I 
have  finished  luncheon.  Will  you  come  into  the  din 
ing-room  ?  " 

The  luncheon  was  a  modest  affair  ;  a  bottle  of  white 
wine,  a  frothy  omelette,  a  bit  of  rye  bread,  nothing 
more.  But  to  Harewood,  sitting  there  opposite  Hilde, 
it  was  enough.  If  Hilde  appeared  charming  in  em 
barrassment,  she  was  delightful  in  her  shy  mirth. 
Moreover,  he  had  never  believed  that  he  himself  could 
be  so  witty — for  surely  he  must  have  been  exceedingly 
witty  to  stir  Hilde  to  laughter  as  capricious  and  sweet 
as  the  melody  of  a  nesting  thrush. 

Yolette  came  in  from  the  garden,  smiling  and  won 
dering  a  little. 

"  Hilde,"  she  exclaimed,  "what  is  so  funny?  " 

"  I  suppose  I  am,"  said  Harewood,  "  the  laughter 
of  Mademoiselle  Chalais  is  as  melodious  as  it  is  disre 
spectful.  Ah,  but  now  I  must  ask  your  advice  on  a 
very  grave  question.  How  are  we  to  address  you — 
which  is  Mademoiselle  Chalais  and  which  is  Made 
moiselle  Yolette,  or  Mademoiselle  Hilde?" 

"You  may  take  your  choice,"  said  Hilde,  with  a 
bright  smile,  "  because  you  see  we  are  twins.  Only," 


64  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

she  added,  "  I  feel   millions  of  years  older  than  Yo 
lette." 

Yolette  protested  indignantly,  and  for  a  moment 
they  all  three  chattered  like  sparrows  in  April,  laugh 
ing,  appealing  to  each  other,  until  Yolette  fled  to  the 
garden  again,  her  hands  pressed  over  both  ears. 

"  Well,"  said  Harewood,  "  nobody  has  answered  my 
question  after  all." 

Hilde's  eyes  were  brilliant  and  her  cheeks  aglow  as 
she  watched  Yolette  through  the  window. 

"  Perhaps  it  would  be  simpler,"  said  Hild£,  "  to  call 
us  both  by  our  first  names."  She  rose  and  opened 
the  window  that  faced  the  garden. 

"  Yolette  ?  "  she  laughed  softly. 

"  What,  dear  ?  " 

"  Shall  Monsieur  Harewood  call  us  both  by  our  first 
names  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Yolette,  "  but  he  must  be  very 
formal  with  Scheherazade !  " 

Harewood  looked  around  at  the  girl  beside  him,  at 
her  brilliant  colour,  at  her  eyes,  vague  and  sweet  under 
their  silken  fringe. 

"  Then  I  am  to  call  you  '  Hilde/ "  he  said.  He  had 
not  meant  to  speak  tenderly. 

"O,"  stammered  Hilde,  "  it  is  merely  a  matter  of 
convenience,  isn't  it  ? "  She  had  not  meant  to  say 
that  either. 

"  Of  course,"  he  replied. 

They  closed  the  window  and  stepped  back  into  the 
room.  After  a  moment's  silence  Hild£  said  ;  "  If  you 
are  going  into  the  city,  will  you  do  something  for 
me?" 

"  Jndeed    I  will/'  he  answered  quickly,  touched  by 


THE   MIRRORED   FACE.  6$ 

the  sudden  confidence.  She  handed  him  a  coin — a 
silver  franc  ;  her  face  grew  serious. 

"  It  is  for  the  ambulance,"  she  said,  "we  could  not 
give  it  last  week.  The  bureau  is  opposite  the  Luxem 
bourg  palace.  Will  you  drop  it  into  the  box  ?  " 

"Yes,"  he  replied  gravely. 

"  Thank  you.     Shall  you  come  back  to  dinner?" 

He  said,  "  Yes,"  lingering  at  the  door.  Suddenly 
fthat  same  impulse  seized  him  to  take  her  in  his  arms 
again  ;  the  blood  stung  his  cheeks  as  his  eyes  met  hers. 
Her  head  drooped  a  little ;  he  knew  she  would  not  re 
sist  ;  he  knew  already  she  felt  the  caress  of  his  eyes  ; 
the  colour  deepened  and  paled  in  her  cheeks,  but  he 
did  not  stir. 

Presently  he  heard  a  voice — his  own  voice,  saying  : 
"Then — adieu,  Mademoiselle  Hilde"."  She  answered 
with  an  effort:  "Adieu,  monsieur." 

A  moment  later  he  was  in  his  own  room,  standing 
before  the  mirror,  facing  his  own  reflection  with  a 
lighter  heart  than  he  had  carried  for  many  a  day. 
"  Damn  it,"  he  said,  shaking  his  fist  at  the  mirrored 
face,  "  I'll  show  you  who  is  master  !  " 

The  form  in  the  glass  smiled  back,  shaking  a  clenched 
fist. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

IN  THE   CITY. 

As  Harewood  crossed  the  rue  d'Ypres  and  passed 
along  the  facade  of  the  barracks  opposite  the  rue  Ma 
laise,  he  met  the  Mouse  face  to  face. 

"  O !  "  he  cried,  "  so  you're  the  gentleman  who 
broke  my  head  !  Now — do  you  know — I  think  I'll 
break  yours !  " 

The  Mouse's  face  expressed  not  only  genuine 
amazement,  but  righteous  indignation,  and  his  protes 
tations  of  innocence  appeared  to  be  so  sincere  that 
Harewood  hesitated,  one  hand  twisted  in  the  fellow's 
collar,  the  other  drawn  back  for  a  hearty  cuff. 

"  Monsieur,"  moaned  the  Mouse,  in  accents  of 
pained  astonishment,  "  what  is  it  you  do?  Would 
you  assassinate  a  stranger?  Help!  Help!  Police!" 

"  Didn't  you  crack  my  head  last  night  on  the  rue 
d'Ypres?"  demanded  Harewood. 

"  I,  monsieur?"  exclaimed  the  Mouse,  overcome  at 
the  enormity  of  such  an  accusation,  "  I — a  father  of  a 
family !  Do  you  take  me  for  some  rodeur  of  the 
outer  boulevards? — because  my  clothes  are  old  and 
stained  by  the  sweat  of  labour — " 

Here  he  relapsed  into  a  snivel. 

Harewood 's  hand  fell  from  the  Mouse's  throat.  He 
looked  at  the  fellow,  puzzled  and  undecided,  but  not 


IN   THE    CITY.  67 

convinced.  The  Mouse's  right  hand  began  to  move, 
very  slowly,  almost  imperceptibly,  toward  his  tattered 
pocket. 

"  Monsieur,"  he  whined,  "  I  am  overcome — I  am 
hurt — I  am " 

Harewood  sprang  back  in  the  nick  of  time  as  a 
knife  flashed  close  to  his  eyes. 

"  Tiens  pour  toi !  Va  done,  cretin  !  "  muttered  the 
Mouse,  darting  at  him  again,  and  again  Harewood 
leaped  back  before  the  broad  glitter  of  the  knife. 

Then,  in  a  moment,  the  Mouse  turned,  scuttled 
across  the  street,  and  fled  down  the  rue  Malaise ;  after 
him  sped  two  police  agents,  flourishing  their  short 
swords  and  filling  the  silent  street  with  cries  of  "  A 
1'assassin  !  a  1'assassin  !  " 

Harewood,  much  interested  and  excited,  watched 
the  flight  of  the  Mouse  with  mingled  feelings  of  un 
easiness  and  admiration.  The  scanty  crowd  that 
gathered  along  the  line  of  pursuit  took  up  the  cry  like 
a  pack  of  lank  hounds,  and  Harewood,  whose  charac 
ter  was  composed  of  contradictions,  and  whose  sport 
ing  instincts  were  always  with  the  under  dog,  found 
himself  watching  the  Mouse's  flight  with  a  sudden 
sympathy  for  the  tattered  creature.  The  Mouse  ran, 
doubled,  twisted  and  wriggled  into  the  Passage  de 
1'Ombre,  the  pack  at  his  heels,  and  Harewood  has 
tened  back  toward  the  rue  d'Ypres,  knowing  that  the 
Mouse  must  pass  there  again. 

As  Harewood  arrived  at  the  head  of  the  street,  sud 
denly  the  Mouse  rounded  the  corner,  and,  to  the  young 
man's  surprise,  came  straight  toward  him.  His  face  was 
haggard  and  dusty,  his  legs  dragging,  his  single  eye 
blood-shot  and  sunken.  He  had  thrown  away  the 


68  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

knife,  his  cap  was  gone,  and  his  greasy  coat  streamed 
out  behind  him,  laying  bare  a  bony  throat.  When 
he  saw  Harewood  there  came  over  his  face  such  a  look 
of  blank  despair  that  the  young  fellow's  heart  melted. 
At  the  same  moment  they  both  caught  the  roar  of  the 
crowd,  sweeping  through  the  rue  d'Ypres. 

That  the  Mouse  expected  Harewood  to  trip  him  up 
as  he  passed  was  evident,  for  he  swerved  out  into  the 
street  on  the  right. 

"  Turn  to  the  left !  "  shouted  Harewood  ;  "  I'll  not 
stop  you ! " 

The  ragged  fellow  hesitated,  panting,  his  solitary 
eye  burning  in  its  socket. 

"  That  way  !  "  motioned  Harewood,  and  he  waved 
him  toward  a  narrow  alley  separating  the  rue  Pandore 
from  the  parade  of  the  Prince  Murat  barracks.  It  was 
a  cul-de-sac — a  trap — and  the  Mouse  knew  it. 

"  Run,  you  fool !  "  urged  Harewood,  seizing  the 
Mouse's  arm ;  "  here,  throw  me  your  coat,  quick ! 
Don't  be  afraid;  I'll  not  hurt  you.  Stand  still!" 
He  stripped  the  tattered  coat  from  the  Mouse's  back, 
flung  it  into  the  rue  Malaise,  and  shoved  the  Mouse 
down  the  impasse  Murat. 

Crouching  there  close  to  the  parade  grille,  the 
Mouse  heard  the  chase  pass  at  full  speed,  heard  a  yell 
as  the  crowd  found  his  coat  in  the  rue  Malaise ; 
then  the  clatter  and  trample  of  feet  died  away  down 
the  passage  de  I'Ombre.  Harewood  laughed. 

"  Au  revoir,  my  innocent  friend,  "  he  said  ;  "  if  you 
can't  get  away  now,  your  hide's  not  worth  saving  !  " 

The  Mouse  gazed  at  him  with  a  face  absolutely  de 
void  of  expression,  then,  without  a  word,  he  crept  out 
of  the  impasse  and  glided  away  toward  the  city. 


IN   THE   CITY.  69 

Whatever  was  capricious  and  contrary  in  Harewood's 
nature  was  now  in  the  ascendant.  He  chuckled  to 
himself  over  the  evasion  of  the  Mouse  and  the  para 
doxical  if  not  unjustifiable  part  he  himself  had  played 
in  it.  Why  he  had  done  it  he  did  not  stop  to  en 
quire — whether  from  pure  perversity,  or  from  a  nobler, 
if  equally  misguided  motive — or  was  it  the  impulse  of 
a  gentleman  sportsman  whose  instinct  is  to  save  the 
quarry  for  another  run?  He  did  not  trouble  to  ask 
himself.  He  walked  on  toward  the  boulevard  Mont- 
parnasse,  pleased  with  the  memory  of  the  exciting 
spectacle  he  had  witnessed,  laughing  to  himself  now 
and  then,  until  he  remembered  Hild£  and  the  mission 
she  had  entrusted  to  him. 

He  felt  in  his  pocket  for  the  silver  franc,  drew  it 
out  and  examined  it.  His  face  was  sober  now.  He 
held  the  coin  a  moment,  turning  it  over  between  his 
fingers,  then  dropped  it  into  the  other  pocket  along 
with  his  key  and  knife.  And,  as  he  had  decided  to  keep 
it  for  himself,  in  its  place  he  tossed  another  coin 
into  the  ambulance  box,  opposite  the  Luxembourg 
palace,  a  coin  of  gold  instead  of  silver — for  Hilda's  sake. 

The  streets  of  Paris  presented  a  curious  spectacle 
for  a  city  that  was  on  the  eve  of  investment  by  a  vic 
torious  foreign  army — curious  because  they  appeared 
to  be  so  absolutely  normal.*  Omnibuses  and  cabs 
were  running  as  usual,  the  terraces  of  the  cafe's  were 
crowded  with  gaily  dressed  people,  all  the  shops  were 
open,  children  romped  and  played  in  the  Luxembourg 
gardens,  exactly  as  though  the  Emperor  still  sat  in 
the  Tuileries. 

In  the  rue  de  Tournon  an  organ  grinder  filled  the 
street  with  the  strains  of  "  Deux  Aveugles"  and 


70  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

"  Mignon";  along  the  ruede  Medici  double  lines  of  cabs 
stood,  the  cabbies  yawning  on  their  boxes,  while  on 
every  side  street  fakirs  cried  their  wares,  marchands 
de  plaisir,  venders  of  ballads,  lemonade  sellers  with 
their  wooden  clappers,  moved  along  the  gilded  iron 
railings  of  the  Luxembourg,  under  the  shade  of  the 
chestnut  trees. 

On  the  boulevard  Saint  Michel,  however,  the  back 
water  of  the  human  tide  that  ebbed  and  surged  cease 
lessly  across  the  right  bank  of  the  Seine,  bore  on  its 
surface  some  indications  that  the  nation  was  at  war. 
Here  and  there  flame-coloured  posters  clung  to  kiosks 
and  dead  walls  ;  proclamations,  calls  to  arms,  notices  to 
the  National  Guard  and  now  and  then  an  insulting 
placard  directed  against  the  Emperor.  Here,  too, 
some  fakirs  were  trying  to  sell  scandalous  pamphlets 
attacking  the  Imperial  family  ;  alleged  exposures  of  the 
secrets  of  the  Tuileries  and  even  blackguardly  verses 
directed  against  the  Empress  and  her  child.  To  the 
credit  of  the  Latin  quarter,  these  creatures  found  few 
customers,  and  were  finally  hustled  out  of  the  streets, 
even  before  the  ordinance  of  the  police  directed  con 
fiscation  of  such  literature  and  a  proper  punishment 
for  the  offenders.  But  these  posters  and  appeals 
were  not  the  only  signs  of  war  visible  along  the  boule 
vard  Saint  Michel ;  battalions  of  the  National  Guard 
were  making  an  unusually  noisy  exhibition  of  them 
selves,  parading  in  front  of  the  Sorbonne,  drums  and 
bugles  drowning  the  roar  of  traffic  on  the  boulevard. 
In  the  cafes,  too,  strangely  weird  uniforms  began  to 
appear — uniforms  as  ridiculous,  for  the  most  part,  as 
the  people  who  wore  them — independent  companies 
organizing  for  the  defense  of  the  city,  styling  them- 


IN   THE   CITY.  71 

selves  "  Enfants  de  Montrouge, "  "  Vengeurs  ed 
Montparnasse,"  "  Scouts  of  Saint  Sulpice" — all  equally 
vociferous  and  unanimously  thirsty. 

As  for  the  city  itself,  it  was  strangely  tranquil  after 
a  night  of  celebration  over  the  safe  return  of  Vinoy's 
1 3th  corps,  and  a  morning  of  rejoicing  at  the  news 
that  the  United  States  had  instructed  its  minister, 
Mr.  Washbourne,  to  recognise  the  fait  accompli,  and 
consider  himself  in  future  as  accredited  minister  to 
the  Republic  of  France.  In  the  Cafe  Cardinal  a 
few  cocottes  still  wore  miniature  American  flags  in 
their  buttonholes,  and  here  and  there,  over  the  en 
trances  to  cafes  and  concert  halls,  the  stars  and  stripes 
waved  brightly  in  the  September  sun. 

As  for  a  very  serious  comprehension  of  the  situation, 
so  far  as  the  public   went,  there  was  none.     On  the 
third  of  September,  after  the  news  of  the  Emperor's 
capture  at  Sedan  had  been  confirmed  by  the  Comte 
de    Palikoa,    the  Parisians  occupied   themselves  with 
an  amusement  always  congenial  to  the  true  Parisian — 
a   riot.     This  riot,  which  has  passed    into  history  as 
the  revolution  of  the  fourth  of  September,  was  refresh 
ingly   bloodless   and    amazingly    decisive.     It    swept 
the  dynasty  of    Napoleon  III  from  France,  it  made 
the  Empire  a  legend,  and  it  proclaimed  the  Republic 
through   the  medium  of   Monsieur  Gambetta's  lusty 
lungs.     In  other  words,  the  French  people  committed 
the  enormous  folly  of  swapping  horses  while  crossing 
a  stream,  and,  when,  in  the  face  of  an  enemy  flushed 
with  victory,  the  Parisians  laid  violent  hands  on  the 
throat    of   their  own    government    and    strangled    it, 
even  Moltke  must  have  relaxed  his  stern  visage  at  the 
hopeless   absurdity   of    such   a   people.      For   if   the 


/2  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

government  had  erred,  was  that  the  time  to  reckon 
with  it  ?  An  established  government  represents,  at 
least  theoretically,  a  basis  and  security  that  a  revolu 
tionary  government  cannot  have  in  time  of  invasion 
and  instant  need.  And,  after  all,  by  what  right  was 
the  Republic  proclaimed  ?  There  had  been  no  appeal, 
no  plebiscite  ;  no  majority  had  exercised  the  right  of 
suffrage,  not  a  vote  had  been  cast.  Violence  alone 
had  decided  the  fate  of  a  government  which  also  had 
been  founded  upon  violence. 

On  the  fatal  third  of  September,  Paris  was  still  quiet, 
perhaps  stunned  by  the  news  of  the  frightful  disaster 
at  Sedan,  but,  in  the  minds  of  the  people,  the  revolu 
tion  was  already  a  thing  accomplished.  Nevertheless, 
there  was  still  time  left  to  save  the  sole  prerogative  of 
importance  at  that  hour — the  right  of  national  repre 
sentation.  It  was  merely  necessary  that  the  deputies 
should  frankly  accept  the  proposition  advanced  ; 

First — Announcement  of  the  abdication  of  the  ex 
ecutive. 

Second — Nomination  by  the  Chamber  of  a  govern 
ment  for  the  national  defense. 

Third — Convocation  of  a  constituante  as  soon  as 
circumstances  permitted. 

Unfortunately,  dynastic  considerations  prevailed 
over  sincere  and  enlightened  patriotism,  time  was 
frittered  away  in  mutual  recriminations,  and  before  the 
Chamber  could  agree  on  any  plan  of  action  the  storm 
burst.  At  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning  vast  masses  of 
National  Guards,  Mobiles,  Franc-tireurs,  accompanied 
by  citizens  equipped  with  all  sorts  of  weapons,  began 
to  gather  at  the  Place  de  la  Concorde.  At  three 
o'clock  the  human  wave  broke  against  the  Palais  Bour- 


IN   THE   CITY.  73 

bon  with  a  roar ;  "  Vive  la  Republique  !  La  deche'ance  !  " 
That  was  the  golden  moment  for  the  members  of  the 
Extreme  Left,  and  they  knew  their  opportunity.  Like 
a  company  of  comic-opera  bandits  they  dissembled 
and  left  the  Chamber  by  various  exits,  only  to  reunite 
outside.  Acclaimed  by  the  mob,  they  hastily  trans 
ported  themselves  to  the  Hotel  de  Ville.  There  they 
immediately  made  themselves  into  a  government,  the 
members  of  which  were  exclusively  composed  of  the 
deputies  of  Paris,  excepting  General  Trochu,  who  was 
to  secure  the  Presidency,  at  the  same  time  reserving  for 
himself  the  title  and  role  of  Governor  of  Paris.  Jules 
Favre  was  designed  for  Vice  President. 

During  this  comic-opera  proceeding,  the  Senate, 
holding  a  solemn  seance  across  the  river,  retired  about 
three  o'clock,  after  a  few  puerile  protestations  of 
fidelity  to  the  captive  Emperor. 

But  even  after  the  invasion  of  the  Chamber,  the 
Corps  Legislatif  refused  to  consider  itself  worsted. 
Jules  Favre  and  Jules  Simon  were  sent  to  woo  the 
prodigals  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  and  were  snubbed  for 
their  pains.  Then  that  wily  little  revolution  monger, 
Thiers,  counselled  moderation  and  patience,  and  went 
away  to  sit  in  corners  and  think.  As  yet,  even  he  could 
not  foresee  the  red  spectre  of  the  eighteenth  of  March  ; 
but  they  who  rise  by  violence  shall  fall  again  by 
violence  as  long  as  the  dreary  old  proverb  lasts. 

So,  on  the  fifth  of  September,  1870,  the  walls  of 
Paris  were  covered  with  proclamations  to  the  people 
and  to  the  army,  setting  forth  in  sonorous  phrases  that 
a  government  had  been  "constituted  "  and  "  ratified  " 
by  "  popular  acclamation." 

"  Constituted  "  was  a  word  as  audacious  as  it  was 


74  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

dangerous.  Seven  months  later  the  Commune  profited 
by  the  abuse  of  it.  As  for  the  "  ratification,"  that  was, 
perhaps,  true,  and  that  was  the  sole  excuse  for  the 
men  who  so  impudently  invested  themselves  with 
power — a  power,  the  burden  of  which  was  destined  to 
crush  them. 

However,  the  people  liked  the  new  government  ; 
Belleville  howled  joyously  and  dragged  Rochefort 
from  Sainte-Pelagie  prison  and  the  government  dared 
not  refuse  to  swallow  its  medicine  nor  deny  this  sop  to 
Belleville. 

Jules  Favre  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  said  he'd 
rather  have  Rochefort  in  the  government  than  outside — 
an  epigram  which  pleased  everybody.  A  few  conser 
vative  people,  however,  cooled  a  little  when  the  former 
farce  writer,  Arago,  was  made  Mayor  of  Paris.  Then, 
on  the  sixth  of  September,  Jules  Favre,  Minister  of 
Foreign  Relations,  committed  the  first  official  idiocy 
of  his  new  career  by  publishing  in  a  diplomatic  circular 
note  the  following  phrase  : 

"  We  will  relinquish  neither  one  inch  of  our  terri 
tory  nor  one  stone  of  our  fortresses,"  well  knowing 
that  a  few  days  later  he  should  go  to  Ferrieres  on  that 
heart-breaking  mission  which  all  the  world  has  heard 
of. 

The  proclamation  of  the  republic  stirred  the  masses 
to  such  an  effervescence  of  joy  that  nobody  thought 
any  longer  of  the  Prussians.  Everything  appeared 
safe  under  the  magic  name  "  Republic."  To  a  popu 
lation  alternately  stunned  and  stung  to  fury  by  des 
patches  which  for  six  weeks  past  had  announced  one 
unbroken  series  of  disasters,  the  situation  seemed  al 
ready  Jess  desperate.  Toul,  Belfort,  Strassbourg  and 


IN   THE   CITY.  75 

Metz  still  held  out,  the  provinces,  it  was  believed, 
were  rising  en  masse,  there  were  serious  rumours  afloat 
concerning  the  disaffection  of  the  Saxon  and  Bavarian 
troops,  particularly  the  latter,  and  the  more  sanguine 
of  the  Parisians  looked  confidently  to  the  United 
States,  now  a  sister  republic,  as  a  probable  ally.  Some 
even  thanked  God  that  there  would  be  no  more  disas 
trous  rumours  concerning  the  army  of  Chalons,  because 
the  army  of  Chalons  had  ceased  to  exist  except  as  an 
army  of  prisoners. 

As  for  the  new  government,  no  sooner  had  it  been 
installed  than  energetic  measures  for  the  defense  of 
Paris  were  pushed  forward  on  every  side.  One  of  the 
most  important  questions  of  defense  concerned  the 
provisioning  of  the  city  and  the  forts,  and  had  Mon 
sieur  Magnin,  who  succeeded  Monsieur  Clement  Du- 
vernois  as  Minister  of  Commerce,  displayed  the  good 
judgment  and  activity  of  his  predecessor,  the  history  of 
the  siege  of  Paris  might  have  been  written  differently. 
Flour,  grain,  hay,  straw,  cattle,  sheep — nothing  was 
forgotten  by  Monsieur  Duvernois — not  even  a  supply 
of  millstones  for  grinding  cereals.  As  for  his  succes 
sor — his  mania  was  economy,  and  it  is  a  pity  that  he 
alone  was  not  obliged  to  endure  the  consequences.  Of 
all  guilty  fools,  responsible  for  their  nation's  humilia 
tion,  the  economical  fool  is  the  most  deserving  of  per 
dition. 

Under  the  new  military  reorganization,  the  govern 
ment  hastened  to  equip  the  sixteen  forts  and  the 
various  redoubts  and  batteries  that  surrounded  Paris 
and  Saint  Denis  in  an  oval  measuring  sixty  kilometres 
in  circumference.  Not  only  was  it  necessary  to  con 
struct  emplacements,  gun  platforms,  casemates,  maga- 


76  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

zines,  bomb  proofs  and  store  houses,  but  it  was  also  im 
perative  that  the  water  supply  should  be  assured, 
mines  planted,  electric  firing  communications  installed, 
and  electric  lights  placed.  Telegraphic  communica 
tion  with  Paris,  signalling  by  semaphores,  entrench 
ments  and  redoubts  connecting  the  forts,  all  these 
were  necessary  ;  but,  before  the  lines  could  be  defi 
nitely  established  a  whole  series  of  suburban  villages 
were  barricaded  and  loopholed.  Inside  the  first  bar 
rier  of  defense  lay  the  fortifications  of  the  city  proper, 
divided  into  ninety-four  bastions  and  nine  secteurs, 
each  of  the  latter  commanded  by  an  admiral  or  a  gen 
eral.  The  city,  therefore,  was  divided  like  a  pie  into 
nine  sections,  each  section  having  its  commander, 
whose  role  was  not  only  military  but  also  civil,  and 
who,  in  concert  with  the  municipal  authorities  included 
in  his  district,  was  responsible  for  the  maintenance  of 
order,  the  policing  of  the  ramparts  and  streets  and  the 
organization  of  the  National  Guard.  This  scheme  was 
admirable,  and,  had  it  been  maintained  after  the  end 
of  the  siege  until  the  city  resumed  its  normal  condi 
tion,  the  Commune  might  have  been  impossible.  The 
city,  then,  was  surrounded  by  a  double  line  of  defense, 
the  forts  outside  the  walls  and  the  fortifications  pro 
per.  But  this  was  not  all.  Belleville,  that  rabbit 
warren  of  the  ragtag  and  bobtail,  that  ever  simmering 
cauldron  of  anarchy,  lifted  up  its  voice  and  bawled  for 
barricades.  To  keep  the  vivacious  denizens  of  that 
quarter  in  good  humour,  the  government  permitted 
them  to  surround  the  outer  boulevards  with  a  third 
line  of  defense  in  the  form  of  barricades.  This  they 
did  with  an  enthusiasm  and  ability  that  was  none  the 
less  suspicious  because  superintended  by  Henri  Roche- 


IN   THE   CITY.  77 

fort.  For  the  defense  of  the  forts  and  ramparts  2,200 
cannon  were  mounted,  and  300  held  in  reserve.  These 
cannon  were  served  by  15,000  artillerymen,  including 
marine  gunners  and  engineers.  The  garrison  itself 
consisted  of : 

First — Two  army  corps,  the  I3th  Vinoys,  the 
Mezieres  prodigals,  and  the  I4th  corps  commanded  by 
General  Ducrot,  about  60,000  men  in  all,  and  150  field 
pieces.  Vinoy's  men  camped  on  the  left  bank  of  the 
Seine,  Ducrot's  on  the  right  bank. 

Second — 105,000  Mobiles,  not  only  from  the  Depart 
ment  of  the  Seine,  but  also  from  every  department  of 
France.  They  were  distributed  between  the  forts  and 
the  city. 

Third — 7,000  sailors  from  the  war  ports  on  the  coast, 
5,000  customs  guards,  forest  guards  and  ex-policemen. 

Fourth — About  60  franc  corps,  more  or  less  unruly 
and  useless,  a  total  of  nearly  15,000  men. 

Fifth — A  few  thousand  regular  troops  at  Saint 
Denis,  brave,  devoted  men. 

Sixth — The  National  Guard,  266  battalions  of  them, 
a  nuisance  to  everybody  except  themselves,  partly  on 
account  of  the  foolish  policy  pursued  by  their  superi 
ors,  in  keeping  them  inside  the  ramparts  instead  of 
habituating  them  to  the  discipline  and  severe  regime 
of  active  service  outside  the  city — partly  on  account 
of  the  elective  system  common  to  each  battalion. 
Anybody  might  believe,  after  this  long  enumeration 
of  defensive  works,  that  the  labour  of  transforming 
Paris  into  a  vast  fortress  was  pushed  with  unexampled, 
not  to  say  miraculous  speed.  That  was  not  the  case, 
and  two  generals  of  engineers,  whose  names  it  is  not 
necessary  to  mention,  were  to  blame.  With  the  Ger- 


78  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

man  armies  within  a  few  days'  march  from  Paris,  with 
the  two  great  redoubts  of  Chatillon  and  Montretout 
unfinished,  these  generals  did  not  think  it  necessary 
for  the  workmen,  masons,  stonecutters,  terrassiers  and 
carpenters  to  labour  during  the  night.  With  energy, 
and  the  employment  of  10,000  or  15,000  workmen, 
Chatillon  and  Montretout  could  have  been  saved  before 
the  arrival  of  the  Germans.  More  than  that,  there 
existed  weak  points  along  the  ramparts  that  were 
criminally  neglected — especially  the  Bas-Meudon  gate, 
where  the  moat  was  scarcely  begun,  and  not  a  mine 
had  been  placed. 

Was  Moltke  badly  informed  ?  Was  Bismarck 
asleep  ?  Where  were  their  spies  ?  The  German,  with 
a  little  audacity,  could  have  made  himself  master  of 
Paris  during  the  first  days  of  investment.  How?  It 
would  merely  have  been  sufficient  to  mass  rapidly,  dur 
ing  the  night,  a  corps  of  20,000  resolute  men  between 
Sevres  and  Bas-Meudon.  This  corps,  composed  of 
equal  divisions  of  cavalry,  artillery  and  infantry,  could 
have  been  hurled  at  the  Bas-Meudon  gate,  where  only 
a  handful  of  Mobiles  stood  guard.  At  the  same  time, 
the  cavalry,  arriving  at  a  gallop  along  the  Vaugirard 
and  Point  du  Jour  bastions,  could  have  sabred  the 
cannoniers  and  National  Guards  on  the  ramparts,  leav 
ing  the  artillery  to  unlimber  behind  the  Ceinture  rail 
road  tracks  and  hold  the  ground  against  any  attack. 
Reinforcements  could  have  arrived  from  Sevres  and 
Versailles  unharrassed,  except  by  the  fort  of  Issy. 

It  was  too  simple,  perhaps,  for  the  great  German 
masters  of  strategy. 

If,  therefore,  the  work  on  the  defenses  of  Paris  at 
tained,  really  splendid,  results^  the  credit  was  neither 


IN   THE   CITY.  79 

due  to  the  two  engineer  generals  nor  to  the  apathy 
of  the  Germans  ;  it  was  due — strange  as  it  may  appear 
— to  Haussmann.  Why?  Because  the  work  could 
never  have  been  accomplished  had  not  the  govern 
ment  been  able  to  summon  to  its  aid  the  splendid 
army  of  contractors  and  their  men,  schooled,  during 
Monsieur  Haussmann's  magnificent  administration, 
to  undertake  and  execute  vast  enterprises  of  construc 
tion  and  demolition  with  incredible  rapidity. 
How  the  irony  of  history  repeats  itself! 


CHAPTER  VII. 

AN  ACCOUNT   TO    SETTLE. 

IT  was  dusk  when  Harewood  returned  to  the  rue 
d'Ypres.  He  stood  a  moment  on  the  steps  of  the  bird 
store,  looking  out  over  the  country  beyond  the  city 
wall.  Pale  stars  glimmered  through  the  veil  of  dun- 
coloured  mist  ;  below  stretched  the  shadowy  valley  of 
the  Seine,  dim  under  its  ramparts  of  low  surrounding 
hills.  In  the  northwest  a  pallid  streak  traced  the 
sweep  of  the  river,  farther  still  a  point  of  white  fire, 
brilliant  as  a  star  of  the  first  magnitude,  flashed  and 
paled  on  the  horizon.  It  was  the  new  electric  light 
on  the  great  fortress  of  Mont-Valerien. 

As  Harewood  stood  there,  fumbling  for  his  keys, 
absently  watching  the  signal  lanterns  hoisted  above 
the  Porte  Rouge,  spots  of  incandescent  vermilion  and 
sapphire  in  the  deepening  twilight,  the  door  behind 
unclosed,  and  Hilde  glided  out. 

"  Good  evening,"  he  said,  turning  instantly;  "I 
suppose  I  am  late  for  dinner." 

The  girl  closed  the  door  behind  her  noiselessly,  re 
turning  his  greeting  with  a  troubled  smile. 

"I  heard  your  keys  jingle;  I  thought  it  was  you. 
No,  you  are  not  late  ;  Monsieur  Bourke  has  not  yet 
returned  from  the  city.  I — I  have  something  to  ask 
of  you  ;  may  I  ?  " 

"  Of  course,"  he  answered  ;  and  again  that  sudden 


AN   ACCOUNT   TO    SETTLE.  8 1 

warmth  touched  him  at  the  confidence  implied  in  her 
eyes  and  voice — a  confidence  he  felt  he  deserved  so 
little. 

"  Not  here,  then,"  she  said,  lowering  her  voice, 
"  they  may  interrupt  us."  As  she  spoke,  she  stepped 
across  the  sidewalk,  and  he  followed,  wondering  at  the 
suppressed  anxiety  in  her  voice. 

A  breeze  blew  over  the  sodded  ramparts  opposite ; 
together  they  mounted  the  gentle  slope  where,  against 
the  sky,  each  separate  blade  of  grass  stood  out,  trem 
bling  in  the  freshening  wind. 

On  the  summit  of  the  glacis  they  hesitated,  then, 
by  a  common  impulse,  they  moved  on  along  the  path 
together,  side  by  side,  under  the  million  stars.  He 
waited  for  her  to  speak ;  her  head  was  turned  away 
toward  the  vast  stretch  of  country  in  the  south  where, 
over  the  valley,  a  haze  of  sombre  smoke  hung,  touched 
with  dull  colour. 

"  They  are  trying  to  burn  the  forest  of  Thiais ;  you 
can  see  the  smoke,"  he  said,  "  They  can't  do  it ; 
the  wood  is  too  green.  It's  a  little  late  in  the  day 
now  to  think  of  clearing  away  the  forests  from  the 
military  zone.  They  should  have  begun  a  month  ago. 
Look  at  the  Meudon  woods.  There's  cover  enough 
there  for  the  whole  Prussian  army.  The  engineers 
and  sappers  have  been  trying  to  burn  it  for  a  week 
past ;  now  they  are  at  it  with  axes.  They  might  as 
well  try  to  ditch  the  redoubts  with  penknives.  What 
a  muddle-headed  people  !  " 

"You  forget,"  said  Hilde",  "that  they  are  my 
people." 

She  spoke  so  sweetly  that  the  rebuke  struck  him 
with  added  force. 


82  ASHES  OF  EMPIRE. 

"  I  did  forget,"  he  said ;  "  forgive  me." 

They  turned  again,  retracing  their  steps  along  the 
narrow  path,  half  over-grown  with  long  grass. 

"  You  are  quite  thoughtless,"  said  Hilde ;  "  I  for 
give  you." 

The  words  were  simple  enough,  and  yet  to  him  they 
meant  more  than  the  mere  condoning  of  a  tactless  re 
mark.  There  was  something  almost  intimate  in  the 
words,  " you  are  thoughtless";  something  that  was 
new  to  him  and  to  Hild£,  a  reversal  of  their  relations, 
a  tacit  assumption  of  a  situation  as  old  as  the  begin 
ning  of  creation,  the  mystery  of  an  awakening,  the 
enigma  of  life,  the  way  of  a  maid  with  a  man. 

"Yes,  I  was  thoughtless,"  he  repeated,  lingering 
over  the  words  that  alternately  thrilled  and  troubled 
him,  vaguely  aware  of  the  subtle  metamorphosis  that 
was  taking  place  before  his  eyes,  the  unconscious 
awakening  of  a  child  to  womanhood. 

The  assumption  of  the  right  to  chasten  and  forgive 
is  a  maid's  first  step  in  love. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  said,  "  what  it  is  that  troubles  you."' 

They  were  standing  still,  looking  off  over  the  valleyr 
the  night  breeze  blowing  in  their  faces,  bringing  with 
it  a  faint  aromatic  odour  of  burning  beech-wood. 

"  It  is  that  I  wish  to  ask  your  advice,  monsieur," 
she  answered  seriously.  "  Do  you  remember  once  I 
told  you  how  two  Germans,  who  had  rented  an  apart 
ment  from  my  uncle,  left  without  paying — after  his 
death,  a  year  ago?  Well,  they  have  returned." 

"  Returned  !  "  repeated  Harewood,  angrily. 

"  Yes,  to-night.  They  have  offered  to  pay  us  what 
they  owed  to  my  uncle.  It  is  not  very  much,  Monsieur 
Harewood — but  it — it  is  of  some  importance  to  us." 


AN  ACCOUNT  TO   SETTLE.  83 

She  continued  with  sensitive  reserve :  "  At  present 
our  means  do  not  permit  us  to  refuse — and  yet — and 
yet — we  do  not  like  these  Germans,  Yolette  and  I." 

"  That  is  no  reason  for  not  insisting  on  what  is  justly 
due  you/'  said  Harewood. 

"That  is  true,  monsieur,"  she  answered  simply, 
"  but  that  is  not  all.  These  men  offer  to  pay  us,  but 
only  on  condition  that  we  allow  them  to  rent  from  us 
another  apartment." 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Harewood,  getting  red  in  the 
face. 

"  This,"  continued  the  girl,  "  we  do  not  wish  to  do, 
although  the  three  rooms  under  the  roof  are  quite 
comfortable.  But  you  see  these  men  are  not  what 
Yolette  and  I  care  to  meet.  Even  when  my  uncle  was 
alive,  and  Yolette  and  I  came  back  from  the  convent 
at  Christmas — they — they  were  at  times  a  little  rude 
with  their  attentions.  Yolette  and  I  were  very  glad 
when  they  left — even  without  paying  anything  at  all." 

"  Do  you  want  my  advice  ? "  asked  Harewood, 
brusquely. 

"  If  you  do  not  mind,  Monsieur  Harewood." 

"  Then  let  us  go  back  to  the  house,  for  I  wish  your 
sister  also  to  hear  what  I  have  to  say." 

"  But — but — the  two  Germans  are  there — now — try 
ing  to  persuade  Yolette." 

Harewood's  eyes  changed  in  a  second ;  a  white 
pinched  look  came  about  his  month,  then  his  whole 
face  lighted  up  with  a  smile  so  charming,  so  perfectly 
winning,  that  Hilde's  troubled  gaze  cleared  and  she 
involuntarily  stepped  closer  to  him. 

It  was  seldom  that  this  expression  came  into  Hare- 
wood's  face — this  absolute  command  of  a  sudden  rage 


84  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

so  frightful  that  it  whitened  and  sharpened  every  lea- 
ture,  only  to  be  followed  by  a  smile  that  would  have 
disarmed  the  devil  himself.  Bourke  had  seen  it  once 
when  Harewood's  little  fox  terrier  was  wantonly 
clubbed  to  death  by  a  peasant  in  Saarbriicken ;  the 
peasant  was  probably  still  in  the  hospital. 

"  Come,"  said  Harewood,  pleasantly,  "  perhaps  we 
can  arrange  this  affair  very  easily.  Why,  there  is 
Bourke  now,  going  up  the  steps  !  "  He  called  to  his 
comrade.  "  Wait,  Bourke  !  I  want  to  see  you  a  mo 
ment  !  Is  that  a  riding  crop  you  have  there  ?  " 

Bourke  looked  at  them  sharply  as  they  came  across 
the  street,  but  he  bowed  gaily  to  Hilde  and  opened 
the  door. 

"  Riding  crop  ?  "  he  repeated,  "  here  is  one.  I've 
sold  the  horses.  Are  you  going  to  ride  a  cock-horse 
to  Banbury  Cross,  my  son  ?  " 

He  stopped  suddenly  with  a  narrow  glance  at  Hare- 
wood's  placid  face.  It  was  too  placid — and  Bourke 
knew  it. 

"  What's  the  trouble  ?  "  he  asked  bluntly. 

Harewood  said  :  "  Nothing  much,"  and  led  the  way 
into  the  parlour. 

As  they  entered  without  knocking,  Yolette  rose 
hastily  from  a  chair  at  the  table  and  came  to  them  ;  and 
at  the  same  moment,  two  men,  lounging  on  a  sofa, 
looked  up  angrily.  The  men  were  Speyerand  Stauffer. 

"Monsieur  Bourke,"  said  Yolette,  resolutely  con 
trolling  her  voice,  "  it  is  fortunate  you  have  come — 
I — I  cannot  stay  in  this  room  another  moment." 

Before  Bourke  could  understand,  Harewood  said 
quietly,  "  Mademoiselle,  it  is  all  arranged.  Will  you 
step  into  the  office  and  write  a  receipt  ?  " 


AN   ACCOUNT   TO   SETTLE.  85 

His  eyes  told  Hilde  to  go  too  ;  she  obeyed,  with  a 
frightened  glance  at  his  face,  which  was  still  smiling, 
but  white  as  a  sheet. 

Speyer  had  risen  ;  StaufTer  also  stood  up,  close  be 
side  Speyer.  When  the  latter  began  to  speak,  Hare- 
wood  turned  and  looked  at  him,  and  he  stopped  short. 

"  Bourke,"  said  Harewood  in  even  tones,  "  would 
you  mind  stepping  into  the  office  and  bringing  me  the 
receipt?" 

Bourke's  sombre,  puzzled  eyes  rested  on  Speyer  for 
a  second,  then  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  left  the  room. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  this  ?  "  blustered  Speyer. 

"  What?"  asked  Harewood  without  emotion. 

There  was  no  answer.  StaufTer  instinctively  took  a 
step  toward  the  door,  then  paused  as  he  met  Hare- 
wood's  eyes.  At  that  moment  Bourke  re-entered  the 
room,  holding  a  sheet  of  stamped  paper  in  his  hand. 
He  laid  it  on  the  table  before  Speyer  but  said  nothing. 

After  a  silence,  Stauffer's  weak  face  expanded  into 
a  smile,  and  he  picked  up  the  paper  with  a  pitiful 
little  swagger.  Then  he  laid  a  few  gold  coins  on  the 
table,  piling  one  on  the  other  in  affected  jocularity. 

"  Will  Mr.  Harewood  do  me  the  honour  of  counting 
them  ?  "  he  said,  sauntering  toward  the  door. 

Harewood  stopped  him  with  a  gesture. 

Speyer,  glowering  across  the  table,  watched  the 
counting  of  the  coins.  When  Harewood  finished  he 
stepped  back  a  pace. 

"  Get  out—" 

"No!" 

"  Get  out !  "  he  said,  gently.  StaufTer  slipped  past 
the  table  at  once ;  Speyer  hesitated,  sneering,  fairly 
weak  with  rage,  then  turned  and  walked  out,  followed 


86  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

closely  by  Harewood.  At  the  door  Stauffer  began  to 
laugh  ;  his  forced  mirth  seemed  to  sting  Speyer  to 
madness.  He  turned  as  he  reached  the  sidewalk ; 
Hilda's  name  was  on  his  lips,  but  Harewood  lashed 
him  across  the  mouth  with  his  riding  crop. 

"Go,"  he  whispered,  with  white  lips.  "If  you 
don't  go,  I'll  kill  you.  Can't  you  understand — can't 
you  understand — I'll  kill  you  if  you  don't  go  !  " 

He  flung  him  out  into  the  street,  and  walked  slowly 
back  to  the  house,  closing  the  door  very  softly  behind 
him. 

He  met  Bourke  in  the  hall,  and  answered  his  en 
quiries  with  a  shrug. 

"  Nice  pair,"  commented  Bourke;  "  Yolette  is  shed 
ding  tears  ;  do  you  suppose  they  said  anything  black 
guardly  to  her?" 

"I  fancy  they  did.  It's  well  we  came  back  when 
we  did.  Is  dinner  ready,  Cecil  ?  " 

They  knocked  at  the  dining-room  door ;  Yolette 
smiled  at  them  as  they  entered.  "  It  was  very  silly 
to  cry,"  she  said  sedately,  seating  herself  at  the 
table. 

Bourke,  not  knowing  what  to  answer,  sat  down 
gravely  and  looked  at  the  lioness ;  and  Scheherazade, 
who  had  taken  a  great  fancy  to  Harewood,  stole 
around  to  his  chair  and  stood  there,  looking  up  with 
luminous  eyes,  while  her  lithe  tail  gently  waved  in 
the  air. 

"  Some  day,"  said  Bourke,  "  she'll  take  a  fancy  to 
me  and  we  shall  be  inseparable." 

His  half-serious,  half-pretended  suspicions  as  to 
Scheherazade's  intentions  always  delighted  Yolette 
and  Hild£.  They  loved  to  hear  him  call  the  lioness  a 


AN   ACCOUNT  TO    SETTLE.  8/ 

living  tomb  and  wish  that  his  bones  might  have  a 
quieter  grave. 

"  He's  insulting  you  again,"  cried  Hilde*,  dragging 
the  lioness  across  to  her  own  chair  ;  "  as  if  my  Sche'- 
herazade  would  eat  anything  she  shouldn't !  Hear  her 
purr,  the  darling!  I  do  believe,  Monsieur  Bourke, 
that  you  are  really  afraid  !  " 

"  I  am,"  said  Bourke ;  "  so's  Harewood.  Fright 
keeps  him  speechless." 

Hilde  raised  her  dark  eyes  to  Harewood's. 

"  Is  that  true,  monsieur?" 

Harewood  brightened  and  laughed,  nodding  across 
the  table  ;  but  Hilda's  face,  always  a  little  grave  and 
sensitive,  even  in  her  mirth,  grew  graver  and  more 
sensitive.  It  had  changed  within  a  day ;  something 
had  come  into  it  too  subtle  for  Harewood  to  detect ; 
something  that  even  escaped  Yolette.  The  contour 
of  her  cheek  and  neck  was  still  almost  childlike,  the 
full  scarlet  mouth  was  also  a  child's  mouth,  yet  already 
lip  and  cheek  were  finer  and  purer,  a  softer  shadow 
tinged  the  eyes,  an  imperceptible  tenderness  touched 
the  lips. 

"  I  cannot  see,"  said  Bourke,  honestly,  "  how  your 
hands  can  be  so  white  if  you  and  Yolette  wash  those 
dinner  things." 

"We  don't,"  laughed  Yolette;  "we  only  dry  our 
little  tea  cups.  Red  Riding  Hood  does  the  rest. 
You  haven't  seen  Red  Riding  Hood  yet?  She's  the 
scissor-grinder's  child.  They  live  in  the  passage  de 
1'Ombre,  and  they  are  very,  very  poor." 

"  Hild£  thought  of  it  first,"  said  Yolette.  "  The 
little  thing  came  to  the  door  last  winter — oh,  so  cold 
and  hungry.  She  comes  every  noon  and  evening 


88  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

now.     Hilde  made  her  a  red  cloak  and  hood.     Her 
father  drinks." 

"  I  think,"  said  Hild£,  "  she  may  be  in  the  kitchen 
now.  Shall  I  bring  her  in?" 

Bourke  nodded,  a  trifle  embarrassed.  He  never 
knew  what  to  say  to  children.  Hilde  looked  shyly  at 
Harewood,  saw  that  he  approved,  then  rose  and  went 
to  the  door.  "  Red  Riding  Hood  !  "  she  called,  "  Are 
you  there,  little  one  ?  Yes  ?  Then  won't  you  come 
in?" 

There  came  the  clatter  of  small  sabots  along  the 
tiled  hallway  ;  Red  Riding  Hood  appeared. 

Bourke  stared  at  this  thin  little  creature,  who  stared 
back  at  him  with  a  pair  of  great  eyes,  black  as  jet. 
But  Harewood,  easy  with  anything  that  seemed  help 
less  or  dependent,  held  out  a  strong  brown  hand,  smil 
ing.  Children  and  animals  never  resisted  his  smile, 
and  Red  Riding  Hood  was  no  exception.  She  came 
slowly  forward  and  gave  him  a  thin  red  hand,  never 
taking  her  eyes  from  his,  and  he  bent  forward  and 
kissed  the  child. 

Hilda's  face  changed ;  an  exquisite  tenderness 
touched  her  eyes.  She  looked  at  Harewood,  trying 
to  speak,  but  could  not. 

"  What  is  your  name  ;  mine  is  Harewood,"  he  said. 

"  Mine  is  Marie  Ledoux  ;  I  should  rather  be  called 
Red  Riding  Hood,"  said  the  child,  seriously. 

Harewood  was  quiet  and  attentive. 

"  Exactly,"  he  said,  "  and  I  want  you  to  come  to 
visit  me.  Will  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  child,  "  to-morrow." 

"Then  will  you  say  good-night  to  these  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  Red  Riding  Hood  ?  " 


AN  ACCOUNT  TO  SETTLE.  89 

The  child  looked  earnestly  at  him,  then  walked  to 
the  door. 

"  Bon  soir,  mesdames ;  bon  soir,  messieurs,"  she 
said  gravely,  and  walked  out,  her  small  wooden  shoes 
echoing  along  the  tiles. 

"  What  in  the  world  has  tamed  our  little  Red  Rid 
ing  Hood  !  "  exclaimed  Yolette  ;  "  Hild£,  would  you 
have  believed  it!  " 

But  Hilde  turned  away  toward  the  sofa  without  an 
swering  and  laid  her  cheek  against  Scheherazade's 
head. 

"  While  you're  about  it,  Jim,"  said  Bourke,  laugh 
ing,  "why  don't  you  make  friends  with  Scheherazade? 
Even  a  lioness  couldn't  resist  you." 

Hilde  clasped  the  lion's  head  closer  to  her  breast. 

"  No,"  she  said,  without  turning ;  "  he  need  not 
take  everything  I  love." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A  PEACEFUL  HOUR. 

THE  days  and  nights  of  early  September,  1870,  were 
like  perfect  days  and  nights  in  June,  when  soft  winds 
stir  and  the  blue  air  scintillates  under  the  gemmed 
rays  of  the  sun.  The  mornings  were  fresh  and  ex 
quisite,  the  sunsets  gorgeous,  the  midnight  heavens 
magnificent. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  thirteenth  of  September, 
the  day  set  by  General  Trochu  for  a  grand  review  of 
the  National  and  Mobile  Guards,  Bourke,  returning 
from  the  city,  found  Harewood  writing  his  weekly 
synopsis  of  the  situation  for  the  Syndicate. 

"  Hello,"  he  said,  looking  up  from  his  desk  lazily, 
"  did  you  forward  our  mail  matter,  Cecil  ?  " 

Bourke  nodded  and  sat  down  on  the  bed.  Hare- 
wood,  coat  off,  shirt  sleeves  rolled  up,  relighted  his 
pipe  and  continued  writing. 

When  he  had  finished,  Bourke,  lying  on  the  bed, 
was  sleeping  lightly,  but  he  woke  as  Harewood's  chair 
scraped  across  the  floor. 

"  Tired,  Cecil  ?  "  asked  Harewood. 

"  A  little.  I  walked  from  the  Arc  to  the  Place  de 
la  Bastille." 

"  Whew !  "  exclaimed  Harewood,  "  what  for  ;  to  see 
the  review?  Was  it  worth  the  trouble?" 


A  PEACEFUL  HOUR.  $1 

"  Yes.  There's  a  bit  of  excitement  in  the  city," 
yawned  Bourke,  sitting  up,  his  eyes  still  puckered  by 
the  light,  his  hair  in  disorder. 

"  That  review,"  he  continued,  "  was  significant,  Jim. 
I  saw  300,000  men  in  line  from  the  Arc  to  the  Place 
de  la  Bastille,  all  bawling  the  Marseillaise,  and  all  of 
them  nothing  but  National  Guards  and  Mobiles. 
They  made  a  great  deal  of  noise." 

"  Was  it  impressive  ?  "  asked  Harewood. 

"  They  made  a  great  deal  of  noise,"  repeated 
Bourke. 

"  O  !" 

"  They  are  not  regulars,  of  course.  I  don't  know 
what  they  can  do.  It  was  queer  not  to  see  the  uni 
forms  everybody  expects  to  see  in  a  review  in  Paris — 
the  cuirassiers,  you  know — and  the  rest.  The  people 
are  acting  foolishly,  anyway,  I  think.  They're  stark 
mad  over  the  new  republic ;  they're  changing  the 
names  of  the  streets,  too ;  the  rue  Bonaparte  is  now 
the  rue  du  Peuple,  the  place  Royale  is  the  place  de 
Vosges — O,  the  whole  business  is  too  childish — too 
grotesque !  Think  of  wasting  time  and  energy  in 
such  foolish  occupations,  with  a  couple  of  hundred 
thousand  German  soldiers — heaven  knows  how  close 
to  the  gates  !  Why,  Jim,  they  have  even  scratched 
the  Imperial  N  from  the  bridges  and  the  public  build 
ings,  and  have  painted : 

1  LIBERTY,   EQUALITY,  FRATERNITY  ' 

over  everything.  Victor  Hugo  and  Edgar  Quintet 
are  dancing  cancans  on  the  ramparts,  hurling  odes  and 
lyrics  at  the  Prussians !  Think  how  Moltke  must  grin ! 
But  their  crowning  madness  has  just  been  accom- 


92  ASHES  OF   EMPIRE. 

plished ;  in  spite  of  the  Governor  of  Paris  and  the 
Minister  of  War,  they  have  decreed  that  all  officers  of 
Mobiles  shall  be  elected  by  their  own  soldiers  !  What 
frightful  stupidity !  " 

"  What  became  of  the  Mobiles  and  National  Guard  ? 
Gone  to  the  forts?  " 

"Some — the  Mobiles.  The  others  are  scattered. 
They  are  to  police  the  city  and  ramparts.  I  fancy 
we'll  have  a  few  here  soon.  To-day  the  sixty-nine 
gates  of  the  city  and  all  the  railroad  tunnels  have  been 
closed  until  the  siege  ends.  They're  establishing 
drawbridges  over  the  moats.  I  tried  to  cable  that,  but 
the  censor  cut  it  out.  By  the  way,  eighty  odd  words 
of  your  Tuesday  despatches  were  cut  out,  too.  Don't 
swear,  Jim." 

Harewood  began  to  qualify  the  censor  with  such 
energy  that  Bourke,  unable  to  control  his  laughter, 
went  into  his  own  room  and  shut  the  door. 

"  Predestined  idiot !  "  muttered  Harewood,  scowl 
ing  at  his  manuscript ;  "  now  I  suppose  he'll  also  cut 
this  to  suit  his  own  degraded  intelligence!"  He 
shoved  back  his  chair  and  looked  out  of  the  window, 
sulky,  impatient,  a  little  wrathful  at  Bourke's  amuse 
ment.  For  he  cared  a  great  deal  about  his  work ;  he 
laboured  faithfully  to  acquire  a  literary  style.  His 
style,  at  its  best,  was  simple  and  honestly  direct ;  often 
forceful  and  sometimes  clear.  To  have  a  French  censor 
butcher  and  garble  it  always  made  him  furious  ;  but  he 
was  always  able  to  enjoy  the  good-natured  banter  of 
his  comrades  when  he  had  cooled  down.  It  was  his 
first  service  as  correspondent  in  the  field,  and  he 
learned  that  there  was  little  romance  in  it.  He  learned 
other  things,  too  ;  he  found  that  electricity  had  nothing 


A   PEACEFUL   HOUR.  93 

to  do  with  the  speed  of  telegrams,  but  that  their  celer 
ity  was  regulated  entirely  by  the  diplomacy  and  gen 
erosity  of  the  sender.  He  learned  when  to  bribe  and 
when  not  to — when  to  use  the  wires  and  when  to  use 
the  mails — when  to  see,  when  to  be  blind — when  to 
speak — when  to  remain  silent.  He  found  that  there 
were  four  things  which  army  officers  dreaded,  bad 
roads,  the  war  department,  typhus,  and  war  corres 
pondents.  They  could  become  habituated  to  the  first 
three  plagues,  but  it  needed  the  diplomacy  of  Dis 
raeli  to  reconcile  a  general  to  the  infliction  of  newspa 
per  men.  However,  when  this  was  once  accomplished, 
half  the  battle  might  be  considered  won.  The  other 
half  of  the  battle  was  in  reality  a  duel — a  perpetual 
assault  upon  a  cool,  polite,  often  playful,  often  sym 
pathizing  official  who  apparently  possessed  an  insatia 
ble  thirst  for  literature  and  who  took  the  closest  per 
sonal  interest  in  the  perusal  of  manuscripts.  This 
official  was  the  dreaded  censor.  Harewood  had  easily 
won  half  the  battle — but  what  man  can  affirm  that 
anybody  except  the  censor  ever  won  the  other  half? 
Of  course  it  was  not  difficult  to  evade  censorship  for  a 
while,  but  indiscretion  meant  not  only  personal  incon 
venience  but  also  ultimate  expulsion. 

Harewood  sat  moodily  by  the  window,  biting  the 
amber  pipe  stem,  staring  absently  across  the  fortifica 
tions  opposite,  where,  beyond,  wrapped  in  a  sapphire 
haze,  the  valley  of  the  Bievre  lay,  green  and  brilliant 
under  the  showered  sunshine.  To  the  east  a  dun- 
coloured  vapor  hung  over  Meudon  woods,  to  the  south 
the  sun  glittered  on  .distant  window  panes,  dotting 
the  valley  with  tiny  points  of  fire.  Everywhere  lay 
patches  of  green  woods,  checkered  expanses  of  yellow 


94  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

grain  stubble  and  ploughed  ground,  squares  of  paler 
green  where  cabbages  grew,  or  blots  of  sombre  ver 
dure,  marking  potato  fields.  White  spires  rose  beyond 
1'Hay  ;  greenhouses,  roofs  sparkling,  clustered  along 
the  route  to  Fontenay,  and  over  all  the  great  war 
ders  of  the  valley  loomed,  purple  through  the  mist, 
majestic,  mysterious — Fort  Ivry,  Fort  Bicetre,  Fort 
Montrouge  and  Fort  Vanves. 

Bourke  sauntered  in  presently,  note  book  open,  pipe 
lighted.  "  Forgot  to  tell  you  something,"  he  said  be 
tween  his  teeth.  "  I  found  out  that  Jules  Favre  con 
templates  making  overtures  to  Bismarck.  What  do 
you  think  of  that?  Rather  a  tumble,  after  his  diplo 
matic  twaddle — eh,  Jim  ?  "  He  took  his  pipe  out  of 
his  mouth  with  a  gesture  of  disgust. 

"  How  did  you  hear  about  it?"  asked  Harewood, 
intensely  interested. 

"  Now,  my  son,  that's  my  business  and  you  needn't 
ask." 

Harewood  laughed  and  nodded. 

"  My  conclusions  are,"  continued  Bourke,  waving 
his  pipe,  "  that  if  he  tries  to  fix  up  things  he  will  fail ; 
first,  because  the  Parisians  will  surely  repudiate  any 
agreement ;  second,  because  he  can't  swallow  his  own 
words,  and  Bismarck  won't  let  him  off  without  the 
cession  of  Lorraine,  at  least ;  third,  because  I'm  con 
vinced  that  this  war  is  not,  as  Bismarck  says  it  is,  a 
war  against  Napoleon,  but  a  war  against  France  and 
the  French,  and  I  tell  you,  Jim,  Germany  means  to 
crush  France  for  years  to  come.  Why,"  he  continued, 
"  if  all  they  want  is  to  humiliate  and  destroy  Napoleon 
and  his  dynasty,  they  have  done  it  already.  The 
Emperor  is  a  prisoner  in  Germany,  the  Parisians  have 


A   PEACEFUL   HOUR.  95 

chased  the  poor  Empress  and  the  Prince  Imperial 
across  the  Channel.  France  is  a  republic  now. 
Then  why  don't  King  Wilhelm  and  Bismarck  ask  for 
an  indemnity  and  go  home  to  their  cabbage  gardens?  " 

Harewood  listened  attentively,  but  offered  no  com 
ment. 

Bourke  continued :  "  O  no,  that  isn't  what  the  Ger 
mans  want ;  they  mean  to  dominate  the  continent  and 
occupy  the  place  that  France  held  three  months  ago. 
There  is  but  one  way  to  do  it — crush  France. 
They're  coming  here  to  try  it,  too.  If  they  succeed  it 
may  mean  a  permanent  German  federation — perhaps 
an  empire — a  Teutonic  empire  dominating  all  eastern 
Europe.  I  tell  you,  Jim,  it  makes  me  sick.  France, 
with  all  her  faults,  has  done  more  for  human  progress, 
human  liberty — for  everything  that  makes  life  worth 
while — than  all  the  other  European  nations  put 
together.  To-day,  aye,  to-morrow,  too,  Germany  might 
drop  out  of  the  world,  and  the  world  would  never  be 
the  worse.  But  blot  out  France  or  England  or  your 
own  blessed  country,  and  it  would  mean  something 
very  different.  I  shall  now  go  and  write  this  out ;  it's 
probably  invaluable.  Much  obliged  for  your  atten 
tion,  Jim." 

He  went  away,  laughing,  only  to  reappear  at  the 
door. 

"  Jim,  that  kid  is  here.     May  she  come  in  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Harewood,  listlessly. 

A  moment  later  Red  Riding  Hood  entered, 
removed  her  small  wooden  shoes,  and  pattered  up  to 
him  in  noiseless  chaussons,  saying  seriously,  "  Bon 
jour,  Monsieur  Harewood ;  peut  on  entrer,  sj'l  vous 
plait?" 


9  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

"  Indeed  you  may,"  he  said,  smiling,  "  have  you 
come  to  pay  me  another  little  visit  ?  " 

Red  Riding  Hood  shook  her  head  and  stood  look 
ing  up  at  him,  waiting  for  the  kiss  that  was,  to  her, 
the  most  important  event  in  her  daily  life.  He 
laughed  and  held  out  his  hands ;  she  put  both  frail 
arms  around  his  neck  and  raised  her  face.  This 
solemn  rite  accomplished,  the  child  sighed  and  nestled 
closer  to  his  shoulder. 

"I  have  finished  the  dishes,"  she  explained;  "  I 
then  played  with  Scheherazade.  Then  I  learned  my 
lesson.  It  was  arithmetic.  I  was  perfect." 

"Are  you  sure,  Red  Riding  Hood  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  repeated  it  to  Mademoiselle  Hilde.  She 
said  it  was  quite  perfect.  I  then  played  with  Mehemet 
AH,  the  parrot,  who  is  my  friend.  I  am  fond  of  the 
parrot." 

"  Suppose,"  said  Harewood,  "  that  some  time  you 
were  very,  very  hungry;  would  you  eat  Mehemet 
Ali  ?  " 

"  No,  monsieur." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  The  parrot  is  my  friend.     It  would  be  shameful." 

Harewood  laughed  aloud  and  Red  Riding  Hood, 
looking  anxiously  at  him,  laughed  too — a  timid,  joy 
less  little  laugh,  sadder  than  tears. 

"  You  are  right,  that  would  not  do  at  all,  would  it? 
We  must  never  aid  ourselves  at  a  friend's  expense — 
even  a  parrot's." 

Here  ended  the  lesson,  for  Harewood  found  that 
loyalty  and  unselfishness  were  virtues  which  Red 
Riding  Hood  would  never  need  to  learn  from  him. 
As  for  lies,  the  child  apparently  had  never  conceived 


A  PEACEFUL  HOUR.  97 

the  idea  of  telling  one.  That  lesson,  too,  had  ended 
with  a  laugh  and  a  kiss.  But,  alas !  appropriating 
pastry  was  Red  Riding  Hood's  besetting  sin ;  and  it 
took  all  of  Harewood's  cleverness  to  explain  to  her 
the  difference  between  mine  and  thine.  She  did  com 
prehend  at  last,  and  gave  him  her  promise  for  future 
abstaining  ;  and  with  this  was  accomplished  the  moral 
regeneration  of  Red  Riding  Hood — which,  after  all, 
was  no  very  difficult  undertaking. 

"  I  came,"  said  Red  Riding  Hood,  "  to  tell  you  sev 
eral  things.  Shall  I  ?  " 

"  By  all  means,"  replied  Harewood  anxiously. 

"  Then  I  will.  The  first  is  that  I  was  perfect  in 
arithmetic  ;  I  have  already  told  you  that.  The  other 
is  that  Mademoiselle  Yolette  has  gone  out.  She  has 
gone  to  the  market,  I  think.  The  third  is  that  Mad 
emoiselle  Hild£  is  quite  alone  in  the  parlour." 

Harewood  looked  at  her  suddenly,  a  faint  colour 
under  his  eyes. 

"  Why  do  you  tell  me  that,  Red  Riding  Hood  ?  " 

"  Because,"  said  the  child,  "  I  think  she  would  like 
to  have  you  come  down." 

"  Did  she  say  so  ?  " 

"  No." 

"Then  why  do  you  think  so ? " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Red  Riding  Hood,  looking  up 
into  his  face.  Harewood  put  one  arm  around  the 
child ;  his  eyes  were  absently  fixed  on  hers.  After  a 
few  moments  he  said  :  "  Do  you  love  Hild£,  Red  Rid 
ing  Hood?" 

"  Yes — and  you  also,  monsieur." 

"Me?" 

"  If  you  do  not  mind " 


98  ASHES  OF  EMPIRE. 

Harewood  smiled  and  said : 

"  I  want  you  to  love  me,  too,  Red  Riding  Hood — 
and  Mademoiselle  Yolette  and  Monsieur  Bourke — 
Mademoiselle  Hilde  best  of  all.  Will  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  child,  "whether  I  love  you 
or  Mademoiselle  Hilde  best.  I  must  think  for  a  day," 
she  continued  sedately,  "  and  then  I  will  tell  you. 
Good-by,  I  am  going  to  shell  peas." 

"  Good-by,  Red  Riding  Hood,"  said  Harewood, 
"  and  will  you  please  come  again  ?  " 

"  Yes — to-morrow." 

She  trotted  over  to  the  door,  put  on  her  wooden 
shoes,  turned  and  said,  "Adieu,  Monsieur  Harewood  !  " 
and  went  away  down  stairs,  tap,  tap,  tap,  over  the 
tiles. 

Harewood  shook  out  his  coat,  washed  the  inkstains 
from  his  hands,  brushed  his  hair,  settled  his  necktie, 
then  took  a  dozen  turns  up  and  down  the  room.  Pres 
ently  he  went  to  Bourke's  door  and  opened  it,  but 
that  young  man  was  again  asleep,  fists  doubled  up 
like  an  infant's,  face  buried  in  the  pillow.  Harewood 
watched  him  for  a  moment,  preoccupied  by  his  own 
thoughts ;  after  a  while  he  turned  away  down  the 
stairs,  stepping  softly  on  Bourke's  account. 

The  door  of  the  parlour  was  open.  Scheherazade 
lay  on  the  sofa,  eyes  closed,  tail  trailing  to  the  floor. 
The  lioness  opened  one  eye  when  Harewood  entered, 
immediately  closing  it,  however,  when  she  saw  who 
it  was.  Harewood  had  never  taken  any  notice  of  her, 
therefore,  as  a  self-respecting  lioness,  she  snubbed  him. 
Hild6  was  not  in  the  room,  but  he  heard  her  voice  not 
far  away,  probably  in  her  own  bedroom.  She  was 


A   PEACEFUL  HOUR.  99 

singing  to  herself  as  she  often  did    over  her  needle 
work: 

"  Of  all  the  saints  in  Brittany 
Sainte  Hilde, 
Sainte  Hilde, 
is  blessed  evermore — " 

He  dropped  into  a  chair,  smiling  at  Scheherazade 
and  listening  to  Hilde's  voice : 

"  Pachik,  pachik,  ma  fach  bihan, 
Kes  d'he  saludin  d'he  c'hampr 
Ha  tach  d'e'houd  ober  komplimant !  " 

"  Hilde  !  "  he  called  suddenly  ;  "  Salud  d'ac'h,  ma 
dousig  Hilde  !  " 

There  was  a  silence ;  then  Hilde's  voice  in  utter  as 
tonishment  : 

"  Monsieur  Harewood !  Who  taught  you  to  speak 
Breton  ?  " 

The  next  instant  she  was  at  the  door,  flushed  and 
wondering,  her  needlework  in  her  hands. 

"  Saludan  ma  dous  a  diabell,"  he  said,  laughing.  "  I 
learned  Breton  in  Morbihan,  mademoiselle." 

"  Hennez  zo  eum  den  a  galit£  ! "  she  answered, 
saucily,  also  laughing.  "  Whoever  would  have  believed 
that  an  American  could  speak  the  Breton  tongue ! " 

"  I  heard  you  singing  about  Sainte  Hild6  and  the 
little  page,  and  all  that,  so  I  thought  I'd  like  to  hear 
more  of  it.  Could  you  work  just  as  well  here,  mad 
emoiselle — and  sing,  too?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  seating  herself,  and  pass 
ing  her  needle  through  a  bit  of  flannel.  She  looked 
up  at  him  once,  then  dropped  her  lids  and  began  to 
sew.  After  a  silence  she  looked  up  again,  saying  : 

"  Yolette  and  I  are  Bretonnes  ;  did  you  know  it  ?  " 


100  ASHES   OF  EMPIRE. 

"  I  think  I  suspected,"  he  replied,  smiling. 

"  Why,  monsieur?  " 

"Yolette's  eyes — they  are  the  rare  Breton  blue. 
Besides,  your  songs  are  always  Finistere  songs — and 
you  know  how  few  French  people  can  understand  the 
Breton  language.  You  and  Yolette  often  speak  it 
when  you  are  alone  together." 

She  watched  him  shyly,  a  little  indignant  that  he 
knew  so  much  more  than  she  could  have  suspected. 

"  Really,"  she  said,  "  it  would  be  only  just  if 
I  understood  English — when  you  and  Monsieur 
Bourke  talk  together  so  rapidly — tr-r-r-r-r  !  C-r-r-r  ! 
— in  your  English  tongue  !  I  am  displeased,  mon 
sieur  ;  I  shall  talk  no  more  Breton  with  Yolette." 

"Will  you  sing  something  in  Breton  for  me  if  I 
sing  you  a  beautiful  little  English  song,  Hilde?  " 

Hilde  laughed  outright. 

"  Yes— if  you  sing  first." 

"  Here  goes,  then  !  It's  a  song  I'm  very  fond  of," 
and  he  began  to  drone  out  "  Jim  Crow." 

"Horrid!"  cried  Hilde,  putting  both  hands  over 
her  ears  ;  "  how  can  you  make  such  sounds — like  June 
beetles  around  a  candle  !  " 

"  Isn't  it  pretty  ?  "  demanded  Harewood,  a  little 
disconcerted.  He  hadn't  much  voice,  but  he  was 
fond  of  music  and  proportionally  soulful  when  he 
sang.  "  Jim  Crow  "  being  his  favourite — and  his  limit, 
he  had  sung  it  with  an  enthusiasm  that  set  Hilde's 
nerves  on  edge. 

"Anyway,"  he  said,  "it  isn't  as  ding-dong  as  the 
French  songs, 

"  Henriette  dtait  fille 

P'un  baron  de  renom, 


A   PEACEFUL   HOUR.  IOI 

D'une  illustre  famille 

£tait  le  beau  Damon, 
II  £tait  fait  au  tour, 

Elle  etait  jeune  et  belle, 
Et  d'un  parfait  amour 

Us  e"taient  le  modele. 

"  I  don't  know  anything  to  compare  with  that  for 
imbecility/'  he  added. 

Hilde  was  laughing  so  gaily  that  Scheherazade 
woke  up,  cast  a  reproachful  glance  at  them  both  and 
loped  off  into  the  garden.  This  made  Hilde"  laugh  the 
more,  and  Harewood,  catching  the  infection,  laughed 
too,  not  knowing  exactly  why. 

"  We  are  very  ridiculous,"  said  Hilde",  gathering  up 
her  needlework.  Her  cheeks  were  aglow  with  delicate 
colour,  her  eyes  brilliant  and  fairly  dancing  with  mirth. 
After  an  interval,  the  sudden  soberness  which  always 
follows  laughter  came  upon  them.  Hilde"  resumed 
her  sewing,  Harewood  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  watch 
ing  her  wistfully. 

Dreaming  there  in  the  silent  room,  where  bars  of 
sunlight  lay  across  the  carpet  and  drowsy  flies  buzzed 
along  the  window  panes,  there  came  to  them  a  sense 
of  peace,  of  stillness,  of  desire  fulfilled,  something 
they  had  never  before  known  nor  even  wished  for. 

She  began  speaking  to  him  quite  naturally,  indo 
lently  occupied  with  her  needle,  now  and  then  raising 
her  head  to  look  at  him,  resting  her  clear  eyes  on  his 
with  confidence.  Such  moments  are  rare  in  life,  but 
they  come  to  all  at  times,  when  everything  seems  but 
the  continuation  of  familiar  conditions,  long  estab 
lished,  an  unchanging  regime,  pleasant,  even  in  tenor, 
without  trouble,  without  desire.  She  told  him  of  the 


102  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

convent,  of  the  death  of  her  uncle,  of  her  hopes,  her 
fears.  She  spoke  of  Brittany,  of  Carhaix,  of  the  Par 
don  of  the  Birds,  and  of  Sainte  Anne  d'Auray.  She 
painted  for  him  in  quaint  phrases  the  chapel  of  Mor- 
laix,  the  coast  of  Saint  Gildas,  the  Icelanders  and  the 
blessing  of  the  fleet.  He  asked  her  to  sing  and  she 
sang  the  "  Ar  Vinorez  "  deliciously. 

Carmel, 

Carmel, 

Na  vo  ket  dimet  ar  vinorez 
Ken  vo  bet  pardon  ar  Carmel — 

She  told  him  naively  of  Ker-Is,  that  city  punished 
and  submerged  because  of  the  fault  of  Ahes,  daughter 
of  Gradlon,  the  king  : 

"  Qu'y  a-t-il  dans  la  ville  d'ls, — si  la  jeunesse  est 
tellement  joyeuse,-et  si  j'entends  le  biniou — " 

She  recited  the  Gwerz  of  Count  Gweto,  and  her 
eyes  filled  at  the  moment  of  peril : 

"  Seigneur  Dieu  ma  fille,  comment  fera-t-on  !  "  And 
the  reply: 

"  Allez  danz  la  chambre  blanche  prendre  de  beaux 
atours  ! " 

All  the  pathos  and  mystery  of  the  Bretonne  was  in 
her  eyes  and  voice  as  she  paused  in  her  sewing  and 
intoned  for  him  the  "  Vespers  of  Saint  Gildas — " 

"  O  Vierge  glorieuse  Marie  ! "  until  he  seemed  to 
hear  the  sea  bells  tolling  off  the  cliffs  and  the  long 
coast  swell  washing,  rocking,  washing,  where  the  surf 
curls  in  a  flurry  of  settling  silver  sands. 

"There  is  something  more  in  Brittany,"  he  said, 
vaguely  uneasy — "  something  besides  the  waves  and 
the  bell-buoy,  and  the  vespers  of  the  sea.  At  Treguier 


A   PEACEFUL    HOUR.  IO3 

they  have  a  song,  called  '  Little  Madeleine '  or  l  Made- 
leinic.'  " 

"  Madelenik  !  "she  said,  her  face  lighting  up  with  an 
imperceptible  smile  ;  "  it  is  really  a  chansonnette  for 
the  inn,  with  its  gay  refrain ; 

"  Ho  !  fois  !  j'y  vais; 
Ho  !  fois  !  je  n'y  vais  pas." 

It  is  very  easy,  monsieur,  to  see  where  you  spent 
your  evenings  in  Treguier." 

He  laughed  and  hummed  the  dashing  chorus — 
"  Ho  !  fe  !  graon  ;  ho  !  fe  !  na  naon  ! " 

until  she  caught  the  spirit  and  joined  her  clear  voice 
to  his,  and  they  sang  the  chanson  of  little  Madeleine 
until  between  laughter  and  tears  Hilde  sank  back, 
both  white  hands  closing  her  ears  in  protest. 

At  the  same  moment  Yolette  appeared,  market 
basket  over  her  arm,  a  picture  of  amazement. 

"  What  on  earth  is  all  this  about,  little  Madeleine  !  " 
she  cried  :  "  never — never  have  I  seen  such  children — 
never!  never!  And,  monsieur,  may  I  ask  who  taught 
you  my  native  language  ?  " 

Harewood  confessed  his  knowledge,  while  Hilde",  be 
coming  very  serious,  opened  the  basket  and  made  a 
mental  invoice  of  the  contents. 

"  Yolette,  you  forgot  the  pigeons." 

"  No,"  said  Yolette,  "  I  did  not  forget,  but  do  you 
know  they  are  a  little  too  dear?  The  butcher  said  it 
was  because  the  Germans  were  stealing  everything  in 
the  north.  I  told  him  it  was  nonsense." 

"  I  think,"  said  Harewood,  "  that  things  are  going 
to  be  a  little  dearer  in  Paris.  Of  course  everybody 
says  that  we  have  food  enough  to  last  a  long  time, 


104  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

even  if  the  Germans  should  blockade  the  whole  de 
partment,  but  it  will  make  things  more  expensive,  and 
I  only  wish  to  say  that  you  must  not  be  too  indulgent 
to  Monsieur  Bourke  and  myself." 

Hilde  looked  up  at  him  without  answering;  all  her 
shyness  had  returned  with  the  return  of  Yolette.  Her 
sister  smiled  and  glanced  at  the  basket,  saying :  "  I 
think  the  dinner  will  be  nice — even  without  pigeons." 

She  started  toward  the  kitchen,  but  paused  to  say ; 
"  O,  I  forgot  to  tell  you,  the  soldiers  are  marching 
into  the  Prince  Murat  barracks,  and  a  company  of 
sailors  have  brought  a  cannon  and  are  mounting  it  on 
top  of  the  ramparts  across  the  street." 

"  If  they  fire  it  will  break  every  window  in  the 
house,  won't  it?"  exclaimed  Hilde,  in  consternation. 

Harewood  frowned  and  started  for  the  door. 

"  Hark !  "  said  Yolette,  "  the  people  are  cheering 
outside.  I  can  hear  the  drums  in  the  barracks,  can 
you  ?  Hilde,  where  are  you  going  ?  " 

Hilde  had  started  with  Harewood,  but  now  she 
hesitated,  looking  at  Yolette  with  troubled  eyes. 

"  If — if  they  fire  the  cannon — and  it  bursts- "  she 

began. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Yolette,  gravely ;  "  then  why  do 
you  go  near  it  ?  " 

Hilde"  looked  blankly  at  her  sister,  then  sat  down 
and  bent  swiftly  over  her  sewing.  She  had  not  been 
thinking  of  her  own  safety  but  of  Harewood's ;  and 
when  she  realised  that,  her  cheeks  turned  scarlet. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  PROPHET. 

WHEN  Harewood  reached  the  front  door  he  stood 
amazed.  The  rue  d'Ypres,  that  broad,  sunny  street, 
usually  as  quiet  and  deserted  as  a  country  road,  was 
thronged  with  people,  from  the  Porte  Rouge  to  the 
Prince  Murat  barracks.  In  front  of  the  house  the  peo 
ple  were  silent  and  attentive,  watching  a  swarm  of  la 
bourers  gathered  around  the  bastion.  A  company  of 
sailors  from  the  fleet  stood,  leaning  on  their  rifles,  in 
front  of  a  strange,  shapeless  structure  that  towered 
into  the  air  above  the  heads  of  the  crowd,  one  long 
steel  arm  stretched  out  stark  against  the  sky.  Beyond 
it,  on  the  rusty  rails  of  the  narrow-gauge  track,  stood 
a  car  truck,  painted  blue,  and  on  this  truck  lay  a  gi 
gantic  cannon. 

The  gun-carriage  had  already  been  placed  on  the 
circular  track,  sunk  into  the  cement  below  the  ram 
parts,  the  terrassiers  were  shaving  the  terrace,  sodding 
it  along  the  glacis  and  piling  sacks  filled  with  earth 
across  the  angles  of  the  epaulment.  The  rotten  ga 
bions  and  packed  barrels  that  supported  the  gun- 
terrace  were  being  removed  and  new  ones  substituted  ; 
locksmiths  and  carpenters  worked  in  the  bomb-proofs, 
and  the  tinkle  of  chisel  and  thud  of  mallet  came  up, 
half-smothered,  from  below. 


106  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

Down  the  street  drums  were  rolling  sonorously 
from  the  court  of  the  caserne ;  and  now,  bugles  sound 
ing,  rifles  glittering  in  the  sun,  a  company  of  infantry 
issued  from  the  sallyport  and  marched  solidly  on  to 
the  Porte  Rouge,  their  red  trousers  a  long  undulating 
line  against  the  green  of  the  glacis. 

Suddenly  above  the  crowd  the  great  derrick  began 
to  move,  three  chains  dangling  from  its  single  rigid 
arm,  the  little  rusty  engine  staggering  under  spasms 
of  steam  jets.  Slowly  the  cannon  swung  up  into  the 
air,  turning  as  the  steel  arm  turned,  further,  further, 
lower  and  lower.  Then,  in  the  stillness,  a  boatswain's 
whistle  sounded,  once,  twice ;  the  crowd  swayed  for 
ward,  and  thousands  of  voices  rose  in  thundering 
cheers : 

"Vive  la  France!" 

All  that  night  Harewood  lay  restlessly  on  his  bed, 
thinking  of  the  future,  which,  until  he  first  met  Hilde, 
had  held  no  terrors  for  him.  Now  it  was  different. 
The  menace  of  a  siege  meant  something  more  than 
excitement  and  newspaper  despatches,  it  meant  dan 
ger,  perhaps  famine,  perhaps  annihilation,  to  a  city 
that  had  suddenly  become  important  to  him — because 
Hilde  lived  there.  He  had  never  seen  a  siege.  His 
ideas  on  the  subject  were  founded  on  histories.  He 
could  not  believe  that  any  army  would  be  able  to  ab 
solutely  isolate  such  a  city  as  Paris — itself  nothing  but 
a  gigantic  citadel,  with  its  double  armour  of  fortresses 
and  ramparts,  its  suburbs,  railways,  forests  and  rivers. 
He  believed  that  even  if  a  German  army  sat  down  be 
fore  the  walls  it  could  never  sustain  such  a  position 
against  hunger,  against  the  sorties  of  the  hundred 
thousands  of  troops,  against  those  new  armies  that 


THE   PROPHET.  IO/ 

everybody  said  were  forming  in  the  south,  at  Bor 
deaux,  at  Tours,  at  Rouen,  from  the  war  ports  to  the 
Loire.  In  common  with  the  great  mass  of  the  Pa 
risians,  he  never  doubted  that,  as  soon  as  the  Germans 
appeared,  the  bombardment  would  begin ;  but  he 
doubted  the  ability  of  a  Prussian  artilleryman  to  send 
shells  into  Paris  from  a  gun  outside  the  range  of  Mont- 
Valerien.  Nevertheless,  he  was  not  satisfied  with  the 
rue  d'Ypres  as  a  haven  of  safety  for  Hilde  at  such  a 
time.  It  was  practically  on  the  city  ramparts,  it  was 
close  to  one  of  the  gates,  the  Porte  Rouge,  and  closer 
still  to  the  barracks,  and  he  knew  that  if  the  German 
cannon  troubled  the  city  at  all,  the  fire  would  be  con 
centrated  on  the  fortifications,  the  gates,  the  mag 
azines  and  the  barracks. 

Lying  there  in  the  darkness,  he  could  hear,  from  the 
ramparts,  the  marine  sentinels'  challenge  as  they  walked 
the  rounds ;  the  stir  and  the  movement  of  horses, 
the  dull  creaking  of  wheels.  He  thought  of  the  four 
great  forts  that  covered  the  country  beyond  the  Vau- 
girard  secteur,  Montrouge,  Vanves,  Ivry  and  Bicetre. 
If  the  Germans  attempted  to  seize  Meudon,  there  was 
the  fort  of  Issy ;  if  they  advanced  toward  Creteil,  the 
fort  of  Charenton  blocked  the  way.  Could  they  hold 
Saint  Cloud  with  Mont-Valerien  looming  like  a  thun 
dercloud  in  the  north  ?  Could  they  seize  Sevres, 
under  the  cannon  of  the  Point-du-Jour?  No,  he  could 
not  see  how  a  German  battery  would  be  able  to  send 
its  shells  into  the  bastions  of  Montrouge,  and  this 
conclusion  comforted  him  until  he  fell  asleep  to  dream 
of  a  cloudless  sky  raining  shells  over  a  city  where 
Hild6  lay  white  and  dead ;  and  he  awoke,  trembling 
in  every  limb.  He  turned  over  and  tried  to  go  to 


108  ASHES  OF  EMPIRE. 

sleep  again,  but  he  could  not,  dreading  a  sleep  that 
might  bring  such  dreams. 

He  thought  of  Bourke,  slumbering  peacefully  in  the 
next  room  ;  he  thought  of  Red  Riding  Hood  and  of 
Yolette,  also  asleep  ;  but  for  a  long  time  he  avoided 
the  path  of  thought  which  he  had  so  often  shirked  be 
fore — the  path  that  led  to  the  solution  of  a  question. 
Awake,  sometimes  asleep,  the  question  repeated  itself 
— it  was  repeating  itself  now,  more  persistently,  more 
monotonously  than  ever.  The  question  was  "  Hilde," 
and  Hilde  remained  an  enigma,  not  because  he  could 
not  solve  the  enigma,  but  because  he  would  not.  As 
he  lay  there,  he  felt  that  the  time  was  coming  when  it 
would  be  impossible  to  evade  an  explanation  with 
himself.  He  shifted  his  head  restlessly  and  opened 
his  eyes  in  the  darkness,  and  before  he  knew  it  he  had 
faced  the  question  at  last. 

What  had  happened  to  him  ?  What  was  going  to 
happen?  Why  should  thoughts  of  Hilde"  occupy  him 
constantly?  Was  it  because,  in  a  moment  of  unself 
ishness,  he  had  renounced  the  idle  amusement  of  in 
spiring  affection  in  a  young  girl  ?  Why  had  he  re 
nounced  it  ?  Every  man,  consciously  or  unconsciously, 
seeks  the  same  amusement;  and  if  conscience  inter 
venes,  is  it  not  easy  to  pretend  that  the  woman  was 
perfectly  aware  of  the  game  ?  Or,  if  the  result  does 
turn  out  grave  for  the  woman,  a  man  can  always  have 
recourse  to  those  little  exercises  of  diplomatic  hair 
splitting  with  his  conscience,  to  which  men's  con 
sciences  so  easily  adapt  themselves. 

It  is  merely  a  matter  of  chance,  this  amusement 
which  may  or  may  not  be  harmless ;  a  selfish  man 
takes  the  risk,  risking  nothing  himself. 


THE   PROPHET.  109 

All  this  was  clear  to  Harewood  as  he  lay  there  in 
the  dark ;  but  it  did  not  satisfy  him  as  it  had  once. 
Moreover,  whereas,  a  few  days  ago,  he  was  certain  that 
he  himself  risked  nothing  ;  now  he  was  far  from  sure. 
He  asked  himself  whether  he  was  in  danger  of  caring 
seriously  for  Hilde,  but  could  not  reply.  Had  he 
been  simply  curious  to  know  how  far  he  could  go  ? 
Had  it  been  vanity,  after  all,  or  a  lower  incentive  ? 

His  face  grew  hot  with  shame  and  self  resentment ; 
he  was  mentally  vindicating  Hilde — defending  her 
against  himself;  but  he  did  not  know  it;  he  thought 
it  was  himself  that  he  was  vindicating.  This  mental 
protest  of  innocence  left  him  calmer  and  less  restless, 
and  after  a  little  he  fell  asleep.  Whatever  he 
dreamed  must  have  been  pleasant,  for  the  morning 
sun,  stealing  into  the  room,  illuminated  his  face, 
young,  peaceful,  touched  with  a  smile  as  innocent  as 
the  woman  he  was  walking  with  in  dreamland. 

Bourke  woke  him,  regretfully,  saying ;  "  What  the 
deuce  are  you  grinning  about  in  your  sleep?  Get  up, 
Jim,  I'm  going  to  Saint  Cloud  to  see  what's  in  the 
wind  ?  You'll  come,  too,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Harewood,  "  I  suppose  the  trains  are 
running  yet.  What's  the  news?  " 

While  he  was  bathing  and  dressing,  Bourke  ran 
over  the  morning  papers,  reading  aloud  the  telegraphic 
despatches. 

"  Hello — what  do  you  think  of  this  ?  When  the 
Germans  entered  Laon,  some  crazy  French  soldier  ran 
to  the  citadel  and  flung  a  torch  into  the  magazine  !  " 

"  Read  it,  "  said  Harewood,  lathering  his  face  for  a 
shave. 

"  Here  it  is  :    *  Through  the  cowardice  or  treachery 


110  ASHES  OF  EMPIRE. 

of  the  Governor  of  Laon,  the  Duke  of  Mecklenbourg 
entered  the  city  on  the  ninth  of  September  at  the 
head  of  the  enemy's  6th  cavalry  division.  It  was  rain 
ing  heavily.  Suddenly  a  frightful  explosion  shook  the 
city  to  its  foundations  ;  the  citadel  had  blown  up,  kill 
ing  more  than  a  hundred  of  our  soldiers  and  three 
hundred  and  fifty  Prussians.  This  awful  catastrophe 
was  the  work  of  an  old  French  soldier,  a  veteran  of 
the  Crimea  and  of  Italy,  who,  not  having  the  courage 
to  surrender  the  place  to  the  Prussians,  crept  into  the 
magazine  and  set  fire  to  it,  blowing  himself  and  every 
body  there  to  pieces.  The  Duke  of  Mecklenbourg 
was  wounded  :  our  General  Theremin  was  killed.  The 
German  troops,  recovering  themselves,  cried  that  they 
were  betrayed,  and  flinging  themselves  upon  our  un 
armed  Mobiles,  massacred  them  in  the  streets  and  at 
the  house  doors.  The  slaughter  was  swift  and  merci 
less.  Yet,  who,  remembering  the  horrible  courage  of 
that  heroic  madman,  can  pronounce  one  word  of  blame 
or  of  regret  for  his  deed  ?  Honour  to  the  dead  ! ' ' 

Harewood,  razor  poised,  face  lathered,  stared  at 
Bourke. 

"  It's  simply  ghastly,"  he  said  ;  "  it  brings  the  whole 
business  out  more  plainly,  doesn't  it  ?  Laon  is  only  a 
few  days'  march  from  Paris.  I  can't  realise  that 
people  are  doing  things  like  that  while  you  and  I  sit 
still  and  scribble  rot  to  the  journals." 

"  I  don't  know  that  we've  had  such  an  easy  time  of 
it,"  said  Bourke  ;  "  Mars-la-Tour  was  no  football  game, 
Jim.  And  as  for  you — you've  given  the  Prussians 
chances  enough  to  shoot  your  idiotic  head  off,  haven't 
you  ?  " 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Harewood,  returning  to  his  shav- 


THE  PROPHET.  Ill 

ing;  "  I  mean  that  there's  a  vast  difference  between  us 
and  those  poor  devils  of  soldiers  out  there.  That  cit 
adel  business  chills  me  to  the  marrow.  Go  ahead  with 
your  newspapers,  Cecil." 

Bourke  continued  reading  aloud,  skimming  through 
the  mass  of  proclamations,  edicts,  appeals  from  hos 
pitals  and  charities,  until  he  was  tired. 

"There's  nothing  new,"  he  said,  throwing  down  the 
journal ;  "  it's  merely  the  same  crisis  growing  more 
acute  hour  by  hour.  As  far  as  I  can  make  out,  the 
Germans  are  somewhere  between  here  and  Laon,  the 
French  fleet  has  done  nothing,  the  Mobiles  are  a  nui 
sance,  the  National  Guards  are  raising  hell  in  Belleville, 
an  army  is  forming  along  the  Loire  to  assist  Paris,  and 
Garibaldi  is  coming  to  France.  That's  a  fair  synopsis 
of  the  whole  business.  As  for  the  United  States  in 
terfering,  it's  not  likely :  Italy's  gratitude  is  not  to  be 
counted  on  :  France  must  face  the  music  alone." 

"  I  wish,"  observed  Harewood,  "  that  the  Paris 
journals  would  exhibit  less  hysteria  and  more  common 
sense.  They've  had  Bismarck  killed  every  week  since 
last  August,  they've  captured  Moltke,  they've  inocu 
lated  the  Red  Prince  with  typhus,  they've  announced 
the  mutiny  of  every  regiment  in  the  Bavarian  and 
Saxon  armies.  Look  at  the  way  the  government  is 
blowing  up  tunnels  and  bridges.  What  lunacy ! 
They're  only  hampering  their  own  movements,  and  it 
takes  about  a  day  to  lay  pontoons."  He  put  on  his 
coat,  standing  up  for  Bourke  to  brush  him. 

"That's  a  big  cannon  they've  mounted  down  there," 
he  observed,  looking  out  of  the  window.  "  Come  on, 
Cecil,  breakfast  must  be  waiting." 

As   they   descended   the  stairs,  Hilde"  and  Yolette 


112  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

stood  at  the  front  door  looking  at  the  cannon  across 
the  street. 

"  Good  morning,"  said  Yolette  brightly,  "  Messieurs, 
have  you  seen  the  Prophet  ?  " 

"Which  particular  prophet  do  you  mean?  I'm  a 
little  in  that  way  myself,"  said  Bourke  gaily,  "and  I 
prophesy  that  we  are  going  to  have  a  most  delicious 
bowl  of  cafe-au-lait  in  a  moment  or  two." 

"Anybody  can  prophesy  that,"  said  Hilde  ;  "Yo 
lette  means  the  cannon.  The  soldiers  have  named  it 
1  The  Prophet';  everybody  is  talking  about  it;  the 
morning  papers  say  it  can  throw  shells  as  large  as  a 
man,  and  that  it  will  be  terrible  for  the  Prussians." 

"  O,"  smiled  Harewood,  "  so  they  call  it  '  The 
Prophet '  ?  " 

"  All  the  same,"  said  Yolette,  "  I  hope  it  will  not 
need  to  prophesy." 

They  stood  a  moment  looking  at  the  great  silent 
gun,  at  the  squad  of  sailors  who  were  exercising 
around  it,  then  Yolette  laughed  lightly  and  summoned 
them  to  breakfast,  leading  the  way  with  her  arm 
around  her  sister's  slender  waist. 

"  There  is  an  awful  creature,"  said  Hilde",  "  who 
calls  himself  the  Mouse,  and  who  came  into  the  hall 
way  early  this  morning  and  asked  for  Monsieur  Hare- 
wood." 

Shouts  of  laughter  interrupted  her  ;  Bourke  begged 
Harewood  to  introduce  his  friend  the  Mouse,  and  Yo 
lette  insisted  on  inviting  him  to  dinner.  Even  Hild£ 
laughed  until  Harewood,  a  little  red,  explained  who 
the  Mouse  was. 

"And  you  helped  him  to  hide  from  the  police!" 
exclaimed  Yolette,  horrified. 


THE   PROPHET.  113 

"  That's  just  like  Jim  !  "  said  Bourke,  who  had  en 
joyed  the  story  keenly. 

Hilde  said  nothing;  her  changing  face  was  turned 
to  Harewood. 

"What  did  he  want  with  me?"  asked  Harewood, 
carelessly.  "  Money  ?  " 

"No,"  replied  Hilde,  with  a  strange  little  shudder; 
"he  said,  *  Tell  him  to  go  to  the  "  Undertakers  "  if  he 
ever  needs  help.' ' 

"  The  Undertakers  !  "  gasped  Yolette. 

"  It's  not  what  you  think  :  it's  a  sort  of  club  in 
Belleville,  a  nest  where  the  elite  of  all  cutthroats  con 
gregate,"  said  Harewood,  much  amused.  "  I  suppose 
the  creature  is  grateful  to  me  for  hiding  him.  I  don't 
think  I  shall  accept  his  invitation." 

"  Gratitude  is  rare  in  that  species,"  observed  Bourke, 
cautiously  ;  "  I  fancy  he'd  cut  your  throat  for  a  franc, 
Jim." 

"  Probably  he  would,"  laughed  the  other. 

Hilde  listened  in  silence.  When  Bourke  slung  his 
binoculars  over  his  shoulder  and  said  he  was  going  to 
Saint  Cloud  with  Harewood,  Yolette  insisted  on  put 
ting  up  for  them  a  little  luncheon.  Hild6  aided  her, 
silent,  preoccupied,  deftly  tying  the  small  parcels  and 
wrapping  up  two  half  bottles  of  red  wine.  At  the 
front  door  Bourke  stood,  telling  Yolette  not  to  keep 
dinner  waiting,  as  they  might  stay  away  all  night ;  and, 
as  Harewood  started  along  the  hallway  to  join  his 
comrade,  Hilde  began  carelessly: 

*'  Of  course,  Monsieur  Harewood,  you  are  not  going 
to  the— the  '  Undertakers'  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,"  he  said,  surprised,  "  we  are  going  to 
Saint  Cloud." 


114  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

"  But — I  mean — you  are  never  going — are  you  ?  " 

There  was  a  silence ;  he  looked  at  her  without  stir 
ring,  one  hand  on  the  door.  Again  that  swift  emotion 
sent  the  blood  thrilling,  tingling,  leaping  through 
every  vein,  yet,  even  then,  he  reasoned — even  then, 
when  in  her  face  he  saw  reflected  his  own  emotion — 
even  then,  when  a  fierce  desire  seized  him  to  stoop 
and  take  her  in  his  arms — this  girl  so  close  to  him — 
Hilde,  who  would  not  resist.  He  stood  there  dumbly, 
one  hand  twisted  in  the  door  handle,  daring  neither  to 
speak  nor  move — for  her  sake.  The  enchantment  of 
her  bent  head,  the  curve  of  her  scarlet  mouth,  the 
white  hands  idle  by  her  side,  held  him  fascinated. 

Bourke  called  impatiently,  and  came  through  the 
hallway  toward  them.  At  the  sound  of  the  voice 
Hilde"  raised  her  head  as  though  aroused  from  a  dream. 
With  dazed  eyes  she  moved  toward  the  door,  holding 
the  little  packet — Harewood's  luncheon. 

"Time  to  start,"  said  Bourke,  with  a  cheerful  smile; 
"  are  you  ready  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Harewood,  shortly. 

He  took  the  luncheon  from  Hilda's  listless  hands, 
thanking  her  and  saying  good-by,  then  followed 
Bourke  out  into  the  rue  d'Ypres. 

When  they  had  gone  Yolette  went  back  into  the 
garden,  where,  slate  in  hand,  Red  Riding  Hood  sat, 
accomplishing  multiplication.  Hilde  lingered  by  the 
door  watching  the  sailors,  rifles  en  bandouliere,  drill 
ing  with  "The  Prophet."  From  the  bastion  the 
short  commands  of  the  officer  came  clearly  to  the  ear; 
"  La  hausse  a  quinz  cents  metres !  Premiere  piece, 
feu  !  La  hausse  a  deux  milles  metres  !  Premiere  piece, 
feu!" 


THE   PROPHET.  1 15 

Then,  pretending  that  the  gun  had  been  fired,  the 
two  cannoniersin  the  centre  swabbed  the  piece  as  the 
brigadier  and  artificier  unlocked  the  breech,  the  two 
loaders  hoisted  in  a  dummy  shell  and  the  aide  pointeur 
affixed  the  'lanyard.  Mounted  on  the  gun  carriage, 
high  against  the  sky,  the  pointeur  rested  both  hands 
on  the  breech,  while  behind  him  two  cannoniers  im 
perceptibly  swung  the  enormous  gun  from  right  to 
left.  Then  he  straightened  up,  both  hands  raised  ;  the 
movement  ceased,  the  captain  verified  the  elevation, 
the  aide  pointeur  seized  the  lanyard. 

"  First  piece,  fire  !  " 

And  the  pantomime  recommenced,  a  succession  of 
figures  trotting  backward  and  forward,  suddenly  rigid, 
then  an  abrupt  gesture,  a  command,  and  the  dark  blue 
figures  trotting  to  and  fro  again. 

Hilde  looked  at  the  barracks  beyond  the  rue  Pan- 
dore,  where,  through  a  brief  interval  of  iron  railing, 
she  could  see  the  line  infantry  marching  and  wheeling 
to  the  sound  of  bugles.  Down  at  the  Porte  Rouge  a 
solid  column  of  wagons  poured  over  the  pont-levis — 
vehicles  of  every  size  and  shape,  piled  with  furniture, 
bedding,  grain,  cabbages  or  bales  of  hay  and  potato 
sacks.  The  country  people  and  the  inhabitants  of  the 
suburbs  were  coming  into  the  city  in  constantly  in 
creasing  numbers,  bringing  with  them  .furniture  and 
live  stock.  Farm  wagons,  piled  high  with  bedding,  on 
which  sat  children  or  old  women,  holding  the  family 
clock,  crowded  against  furniture  vans  from  Paris, 
loaded  with  the  bric-a-brac  of  prosperous  suburban 
merchants ;  oxen  huddled  behind  smart  carriages 
driven  by  servants  in  livery,  cows,  sheep,  even  turkeys 
and  geese  pursued  a  dusty  course  through  the  gates  ; 


Il6  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

and  over  all  rose  the  cries  of  the  teamsters,  the  lowing 
of  cattle,  the  ominous  murmur  of  disheartened  things, 
fleeing  from  that  impending  tempest  that  was  rolling 
up  somewhere  beyond  the  horizon. 

In  the  eyes  of  the  men  there  was  more  of  despair 
than  of  terror;  the  old  people  were  dumb,  peering 
through  the  dust  with  hopeless  eyes,  tearless  and  re 
signed.  Even  the  children,  laughing  up  into  their 
silent  mother's  eyes,  grew  sober  and  sat  quietly  on  the 
heaps  of  bedding,  staring  down  at  the  huddled  cattle, 
trampling  by  on  either  side. 

To  Hilde,  however,  the  distant  wagon  train,  half- 
hidden  in  dust,  was  scarcely  visible  except  where  it 
wound  through  the  gate.  Even  there  she  could  not 
distinguish  features  or  age  or  sex,  for  the  Porte  Rouge 
was  too  far  away,  and  the  foliage  of  the  chestnut  trees 
hid  a  great  deal.  How  much  she  divined  is  not  cer 
tain,  but  she  turned  away  into  the  house,  a  new  weight 
on  her  heart,  a  sudden  heavy  foreboding. 

In  the  bird  store  the  canaries  were  singing  lustily  in 
the  sunshine  ;  Rocco,  the  monkey,  cracked  nuts  and 
ate  them  with  fearful  grimaces  at  Mehemet  Ali,  the 
parrot,  who  looked  at  him  enviously,  upside  down. 
Hilde"  dropped  some  fresh  melon  seeds  into  the  par 
rot's  china  cup,  renewed  the  water  in  all  the  cages, 
stirred  up  the  squirrel's  bedding,  and  sat  down,  her 
dimpled  chin  on  her  wrist. 

She  thought  of  Harewood,  of  the  first  time  they  had 
entered  the  bird  store  together.  She  thought  of  that 
moment  when,  before  she  knew  it,  he  had  bent  and 
kissed  her,  and,  wonder  of  wonders  !  she  had  kissed 
him.  Why  ?  The  eternal  question,  always  returning 
— why?  Why?  It  weaned  her  to  think,  and  what 


THE    PROPHET.  1 1/ 

was  the  use  ?  Until  he  had  kissed  her  she  had  always 
supposed  that  such  a  kiss  was  sin.  The  Sisters  at  the 
convent  said  so.  Now  she  did  not  know — she  knew 
nothing  except  that  they  had  kissed  each  other.  She 
had  not  resisted.  She  had  never  thought  of  resisting. 
In  his  presence  she  was  satisfied  and  yet  frightened, 
contented,  yet  restless.  She  never  tired  of  watching 
him.  She  was  curious,  too,  about  him,  wondering  what 
his  thoughts  might  be.  Twice,  since  that  first  day, 
he  had  looked  at  her  in  the  same  way,  with  the  same 
unexplained  question  in  his  eyes — a  question  that  left 
her  breathless,  confused,  dazed.  Sadness,  too,  came 
later,  and  wistfulness, — a  fatigue,  a  weakness  that 
made  her  eyes  grow  tired  and  her  limbs  heavy. 

She  went  slowly  into  her  bedroom,  only  to  stand 
before  the  faience  Sainte  Hilde,  thinking,  thinking. 
She  had  never  asked  Sainte  Hilde  of  Carhaix  for  aid 
because  she  did  not  know  what  to  say,  and,  when  she 
tried  to  think,  the  gold  and  azure  mantle  of  the  Sainte 
distracted  her  attention.  How  often  had  she  counted 
the  links  in  the  chain  around  Sainte  Hilde's  china  neck ; 
how  often  had  she  striven  to  understand  the  placid, 
set  smile  on  her  polished  face — yet  always  thinking 
of  something  quite  different — of  Harewood — and  the 
kiss — and  the  question,  unanswered,  in  his  eyes. 

And,  as  she  stood  musing  in  the  twilight  of  her 
chamber,  suddenly  the  room  swam,  the  floor  seemed 
to  fall  beneath  her,  a  frightful  explosion  shivered  every 
window-pane  in  the  house. 

Hilde  reeled,  clutching  at  a  chair ;  Yolette  crept  in, 
pale,  shaking  in  every  limb. 

"  It  is  nothing,"  she  gasped  ;  "  they  have  fired  '  The 
Prophet.'  The  Prussians  are  in  Meudon  woods  !  " 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE   PROPHECY. 

THE  rue  d'Ypres  was  a  surging  turmoil.  Swarms 
of  eager,  anxious  people  thronged  the  street  and  the 
ramparts,  where  an  irregular  cloud  of  white  smoke 
hung,  half  concealing  the  Prophet.  A  company  of 
line  soldiers  were  driving  the  crowd  back  to  the  side 
walk,  a  mounted  gendarme  shouted  orders  and  wheeled 
his  horse  right  and  left,  white  gloved  hand  raised,  the 
grenade  on  his  baldrick  glittering  like  a  live  coal. 
From  everywhere  came  a  murmur,  growing  louder, 
deeper,  more  persistent,  "The  Prussians!  The  Prus 
sians!  The  Prussians!"  until  the  monotonous  chant 
swept  from  the  Porte  Rouge  to  the  Prince  Murat  bar 
racks  like  the  thrill  of  a  tense  cord,  deep  strung,  trem 
bling,  vibrating  in  the  arched  sky. 

"The  Uhlans  were  signalled  near  1'Hay  !  "  cried  a 
boy,  raising  himself  on  the  point  of  his  wooden  shoes 
to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  Prophet. 

"Can  one  see  the  Prussians  out  there?"  asked  a 
woman,  looking  up  anxiously  at  Hild£,  who  leaned 
from  the  window. 

"  I  see  nothing,  madame,"  replied  Hild£,  faintly. 

"They're  there  !  "  insisted  a  man  in  a  blue  blouse  ; 
"  the  Prussians  are  in  Meudon  woods,  madame." 

"  Who  saw  them  ?  "  asked  a  dozen  voices  at  once. 

"  How  do  I  know.     Everybody  says  they're  there." 


THE   PROPHECY.  IIQ 

"  They're  over  by  that  spire — one  could  see  them 
with  a  glass,"  said  an  old  man,  who  immediately  be 
came  the  centre  of  attention. 

"  What  spire  ? "  demanded  the  man  in  the  blue 
blouse. 

"  Can  you  see  them  ?  Are  there  many  ? "  asked 
another. 

"  The  Uhlans  !     The  Uhlans  !  "  shouted  the  crowd. 

Hild£,  leaning  from  the  shattered  window,  looked 
down  at  the  surging  throngs  below  and  then  out  across 
the  valley  of  the  Bievre,  sparkling  with  dimmed  bril 
liancy  under  its  veil  of  haze.  She  saw  nothing  except 
patches  of  woods,  white  spires  and  checkered  fields, 
flecked  with  misty  sunshine. 

Yolette  spoke  calmly  beside  her  ;  "  We  must  fill  all 
the  window  frames  with  panes  of  oiled  paper.  If  they 
fire  again,  there  will  be  no  use  having  glass  put  in." 

In  the  street  below,  an  officer  with  gold  lace  on  his 
crimson  cap  rode  slowly  through  the  centre  of  the 
crowd,  repeating  :  "  Go  back,  messieurs ;  there  is  noth 
ing  to  see.  The  Prussians  have  not  been  signalled; 
the  marines  are  only  practising  to  get  the  range." 

"No  Prussians?"  exclaimed  the  man  in  the  blue 
blouse.  A  disgusted  laugh  ran  through  the  crowd. 

"  Fichtre !  Je  m'en  vais,  alors,"  said  a  young 
butcher,  tying  his  apron  tighter :  "  we'll  have  plenty 
of  time  to  see  Monsieur  Bismarck  later." 

The  crowd  slowly  dissolved,  melting  away  little  by 
little,  leaving  a  group  of  hopelessly  curious  gamins  at 
the  Porte  Rouge,  the  barracks,  and  as  near  to  the 
Prophet  as  the  cannoniers  would  permit. 

So,  after  all,  the  Prussians  were  not  in  sight.  The 
crowd  appeared  to  be  good-humoured  but  a  little  dis- 


120  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

appointed,  for  they  had  come  to  see  something,  and 
now  were  obliged  to  retire  unsatisfied.  Curiosity  pre 
vailed  in  spite  of  dread — that  insatiable  curiosity  of 
the  Parisians,  so  easily  gratified,  so  soon  changed  to 
ennui. 

The  shot  from  the  bastions  had  aroused  the  whole 
city  ;  even  Bourke  and  Harewood,  lounging  on  the 
terrace  above  the  palace  of  Saint  Cloud,  heard  the 
distant  report,  and  saw  the  white  smoke  curling  up 
along  the  battlements  behind  Issy. 

"  That  comes  from  our  quarter,"  said  Harewood, 
"do  you  see  the  smoke,  Cecil?" 

"  It's  nothing,"  replied  Bourke;  "they're  practising 
somewhere  on  our  secteur,  probably  to  find  the  range. 
It  may  be  *  The  Prophet '  that  has  spoken." 

They  sat  on  a  bench,  lazily  discussing  cold  chicken 
and  light  Bordeaux,  looking  off  over  the  valley  where 
the  panorama  of  the  Seine  valley  spread  out.  At 
their  feet  lay  Paris,  white,  fair  as  a  jewel  set  in  green 
velvet,  circled  by  the  limpid  necklace  of  the  river. 
The  late  sunlight  burned  on  the  gilded  dome  of  the 
Invalides,  the  twin  towers  of  Notre  Dame  glimmered 
beyond.  Nearer,  the  majestic  dome  of  the  Pantheon 
and  the  strange  towers  of  Saint  Sulpice  detached 
themselves  from  the  level  mass  of  green — the  gardens 
of  the  Luxembourg  ;  and,  farther  beyond,  the  observa 
tory  glistened,  its  mosque-like  domes  snowy  white. 
To  the  southeast,  looking  across  the  peninsula  where 
Billancourt  lay  smothered  in  verdure,  the  six  forts  of 
the  south  stretched  away  in  a  single  rank  to  the  river 
Marne ;  in  the  north  the  vast  mass  of  Mont-Vale"rien 
cut  the  sky-line — always  mysterious,  always  menacing, 
wrapped  in  gloomy  majesty.  Close  to  Saint  Cloud 


THE   PROPHECY.  121 

the  Montretout  redoubt  lay,  still  unfinished,  but  ap 
parently  formidable  enough. 

Harewood  could  see  the  terrassiers  swarming  over 
the  glacis,  troops  marching  and  counter-marching, 
gun  squads  drilling  on  the  parapets.  At  their  feet,  so 
close  that  Bourke  could  have  tossed  a  pebble  onto  the 
roof,  the  beautiful  palace  of  Saint  Cloud  nestled  amid 
its  ancient  forest,  stiff  ranks  of  hedges,  and  quaint 
marble-terraced  pools.  A  squadron  of  cuirassiers  had 
dismounted  at  the  foot  of  the  terrace  steps  ;  hundreds 
of  officers,  municipal  magnates,  huissiers,  gendarmes 
and  holiday  strollers  passed  through  the  palace 
grounds,  staring  up  at  the  exquisite  gray  facade  with 
unaccustomed  emotions  of  curiosity  and  apprehen 
sion. 

A  group  of  mounted  officers,  returning  from  an  in 
spection  of  the  Haras  carrefour,  passed  slowly  beneath 
the  terrace,  spurs  and  helmets  jingling,  breastplates 
glittering  like  mirrors.  One  of  them,  a  slim  young 
fellow,  splendidly  mounted,  glanced  up  at  the  two 
Americans  as  he  passed,  turned  his  head  to  look  again, 
laughed  and  waved  a  gloved  hand. 

"  Who's  that  ?  "  asked  Bourke. 

"  General  Bellemare,  commanding  at  Saint  Denis," 
said  Harewood.  "  He's  going  to  let  me  know  when 
anything  is  up  in  that  direction." 

It  was  sunset  before  they  rose  to  go,  with  a  last 
glance  at  the  distant  splendid  city  where  the  Arc-de- 
Triomphe  had  turned  to  an  arch  of  pearl,  the  obelisk 
to  a  flaming  torch — battlements,  spires,  bridges, 
impalpable  as  structures  of  opalescent  mist,  faded  as 
the  enchantment  waned,  fainter,  dimmer,  until  in  the 
rose-banked  haze  a  star  broke  out ;  another  glimmered 


122  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

in  the  zenith.  Then,  as  the  shadows  fell  on  forest 
and  palace  and  sombre  silent  pools,  far  through  the 
velvet  twilight,  between  the  avenues  of  trees,  the 
moon,  blood  red,  rose  above  the  edges  of  the  plain. 

"  Come  on,"  said  Bourke,  strapping  his  binocular 
and  starting  down  the  terrace  steps. 

Harewood  followed  him,  entering  the  hedged  ave 
nue  just  as  the  cuirassiers  rode  out  of  the  court.  In 
the  twilight  one  of  the  passing  cavaliers  stopped,  call 
ing  to  Harewood  in  English,  tinged  with  an  accent : 

"  It  is  you,  my  friend?  Ma  foi,  you  are  not  amiable 
— no,  scarcely  amiable.  I  am  glad  to  see  you  again." 

Harewood  shook  hands  with  him  as  the  horse 
passed,  saying  :  "  Good  evening,  General  Bellemare  ; 
I  am  coming  to  see  you  at  Saint  Denis  soon." 

"I  shall  expect  you,"  said  General  Bellemare,  turn 
ing  in  his  saddle.  "  Don't  forget — rue  d'Athis — au 
revoir,  mon  cher,"  and  passed  on  with  the  cavalry  into 
the  dusk,  saluting  them  both  with  easy  grace. 

The  two  Americans  pursued  their  way  toward  the 
river,  saying  little  to  each  other  until  they  were  stand 
ing  on  the  deck  of  a  bateau-mouche,  speeding  through 
the  twilight  under  the  high  viaduct  of  the  Point  du 
Jour. 

Red  and  green  lights  on  the  fleet  of  river  gunboats 
sparkled  under  the  shadowy  arches  of  the  viaduct ; 
on  the  eastern  bastions  an  electric  light  sputtered,  blue 
and  blinding,  casting  luminous  shadows  over  quay  and 
dock  and  long  rows  of  polished  siege  guns,  lying  on 
car  trucks  below  the  ramparts.  Other  boats  passed 
them,  clustered  lights  on  bow  and  stern,  rows  of 
illuminated  windows  and  ports  staining  the  dark 
waters  with  golden  beams  as  they  passed.  The  little 


THE   PROPHECY.  123 

waves  danced  along  the  wake,  criss-crossed  with  green 
and  crimson  streaks,  distorting  the  lantern  reflections 
until  the  black  water  surged  under  a  polished  surface, 
shot  to  its  depths  with  jagged,  trembling  shafts  of 
coloured  light. 

"  That's  the  gunboat  Farcy,"  said  Bourke,  as  a 
shadowy  shape  loomed  up  in  midstream.  "  She's  got 
a  big  gun  aboard,  but  to  my  thinking  the  recoil  must 
raise  the  mischief  with  her  plates." 

Already  the  dark,  endless*  facade  of  the  Louvre 
appeared  on  the  left,  bridge  after  bridge  spanned  the 
river,  bright  with  festoons  of  gas  lamps,  until  a  black 
bulk  surged  up  before  them,  crowned  with  clustered 
pinnacles,  lighted  only  by  the  stars.  It  was  the  Cite". 
Their  voyage  had  come  to  its  end.  As  they  climbed 
the  steps  of  the  quay  below  the  Palais  de  Justice, 
away  in  the  south  a  ball  of  fire  sped  up  into  the  sky 
and  burst,  spraying  the  night  with  vermilion  stars. 

"  What's  that  signal?  "  muttered  Bourke. 

The  distant  report  of  a  cannon  confirmed  the 
answer  that  the  newsboys  were  shouting  along  the 
boulevard  :  "  Extra  !  The  Orleans  railway  blown  up 
between  Abion  and  Athis !  The  Prussians  have 
reached  the  forest  of  Senart !  Extra  !  " 

Harewood  bought  a  paper  and  stood  reading  it 
under  a  gas  jet,  while  on  every  side  an  increasing 
tumult  arose  from  the  crowded  sidewalks  as  rocket 
after  rocket  whirred  up  into  the  night  and  the  dull 
thunder  muttered  from  the  forts  of  the  west.  In 
the  glare  of  the  lighted  shop  windows,  black  masses 
of  people  gathered,  gesticulating,  blocking  the  street, 
lingering  in  knots  under  the  gas  lamps,  where  some 
boulevard  orator  alternately  read  from  a  newspaper 


124  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

and  harangued  his  neighbours.  Hoarse  voices,  with 
the  sinister  intonation  of  alarm  bells,  dominated  the 
deeper  hum  of  the  multitude — insistant  voices,  clam 
ouring  disaster.  "  Extra  !  Extra !  " — every  discordant 
cry  rang  out  harsh  and  tense,  vibrating  with  the  malice 
of  prophecy. 

"  It's  true,"  said  Harewood  soberly  ;  "  the  Prussians 
have  cut  the  Orleans  railroad  near  Athis." 

He  handed  the  journal  to  Bourke,  adding,  "  there'll 
be  the  devil  to  pay  in* the  streets  to-night.  I've  a 
mind  to  stay  here  and  dine  at  the  Cafe"  Rouge.  What 
do  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  told  Yolette  not  to  expect  us,"  replied  Bourke, 
"  so  it's  all  right.  Come  on  !  " 

They  threaded  their  way  through  the  crowd,  crossed 
the  street  and  traversed  the  Place  Saint  Michel,  where 
a  jam  of  omnibuses  and  cabs,  hopelessly  mixed, 
blocked  the  passage  of  a  battery  of  artillery.  In  the 
black  mass,  silhouettes  of  riders,  towering  in  their 
high  saddles,  crossed  and  recrossed  the  gaslit  bridge ; 
here,  a  horse's  head  tossed,  sharply  outlined ;  there, 
the  slim  shape  of  a  cannon  detached  itself  from  the 
shadowy  chaos. 

As  they  pressed  on  up  the  hill  of  the  Saint  Michel 
and  entered  the  brightly  lighted  terrace  of  the  Cafe" 
Rouge,  cuirassiers  were  passing  through  the  boulevard 
Saint  Germain,  sabres,  casques  and  polished  armour 
shining,  crimsoned  with  mirrored  reflections  from  the 
flaming  torches  borne  by  single  cavaliers.  A  trum 
peter  rode  by,  a  trooper  carrying  a  guidon,  staff  in 
stirrup,  followed,  then,  all  alone,  came  a  general, 
sombre  face  shadowed,  gilded  sash,  chapeau  and 
epaulettes  glittering  with  woven  gold.  Under  his 


THE    PROPHECY.  12$ 

I 

cocked  hat  his  dreamy  eyes  looked  out  into  the  glare 
undazzled ;  he  saw  neither  torch  nor  shadow,  nor  the 
steel  blades  of  swords — he,  the  mystic,  the  oracle  of 
vagueness,  the  apostle  of  the  past — this  Breton  Gover 
nor  of  Paris,  General  Trochu. 

So  he  passed  by  with  his  armoured  troop,  a  remnant 
of  ancient  pageantry,  a  Breton  of  emblazoned  chroni 
cles,  silent,  vague-eyed,  dreaming  dreams  of  chivalry 
and  paradise,  and  the  blessed  sainte  whose  filmy  veil 
was  a  shield  of  God  for  the  innocent. 

When  the  last  squadron  had  trampled  past  and  was 
blotted  out  in  the  darkness,  Bourke,  followed  by  Hare- 
wood,  entered  the  Cafe  Rouge  and  found  seats  at  a 
table  between  a  soldier  of  the  National  Guard  and  one 
of  Franchetti's  scouts. 

The  latter  was  taunting  the  National  Guardsman 
with  the  indiscipline  of  his  battalion  ;  the  Guardsman 
answered  sulkily  and  sawed  away  at  his  steak,  washing 
huge  mouthfuls  down  with  goblets  of  red  wine. 

"You  and  your  Major,  eh?"  sneered  the  scout. 
"Tell  me,  my  friend,  since  when  has  a  battalion  of  the 
National  Guard  boasted  a  Major?  I  leave  it  to  these 
two  gentlemen " — here  he  turned  and  nodded  at 
Bourke  and  Harewood — "  I  leave  it  to  these  gentle 
men,  if  it  is  possible  for  a  National  Guard  battalion  to 
have  a  Major,  unless  it's  a  company  of  fantoches !  " 

"  Fantoche  yourself !  "  shouted  the  Guardsman, 
stung  to  fury  by  the  taunt ;  "  let  me  tell  you  that 
Major  Flourens  is  Major  because  he's  accepted  the 
command  of  three  Belleville  battalions.  If  you  don't 
like  it,  go  up  to  the  '  Undertakers '  to-night  and  say  so 
to  Buckhurst — and  see  what  happens." 

"  Who  is  Buckhurst  ?  "  inquired  the  scout  sarcasti 
cally. 


126  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

The  Guardsman  swallowed  a  mouthful  of  bread, 
emptied  his  goblet,  smacked  his  lips,  and  said  :  "  None 
of  your  business." 

Bourke  looked  at  Harewood. 

"  Buckhurst  ?  "  he  repeated  under  his  breath. 

"  It  wouldn't  surprise  me,"  muttered  Harewood,  "  if 
that  ruffian  is  in  Paris  ;  the  '  Undertakers '  is  just  the 
place  for  him." 

They  ate  in  silence  for  a  while,  preoccupied  with 
this  bit  of  news,  news  which  they  knew  was  well 
worth  cabling  to  America.  Forger,  murderer  and  in 
cendiary,  Jack  Buckhurst  had  at  last  been  caught 
during  the  draft  riots  in  New  York,  and,  after  being 
clubbed  into  insensibility,  had  been  locked  in  the 
Tombs  prison  to  be  dealt  with  later.  The  next  day 
the  warden  reported  him  dying ;  the  day  after  he  was 
gone,  but  not  to  hell.  Where  he  had  gone  the  authori 
ties  tried  for  a  while  to  find  out,  until  at  last  the  fame 
of  his  exploits  faded  into  legendry,  and  nothing  was 
left  of  his  memory  except  an  occasional  line  in  a  news 
paper  and  a  faded  photograph  in  the  rogues'  gallery. 

The  scout  began  again  to  tease  the  National  Guards 
man,  asking  sneering  questions  about  Belleville  and 
the  battalions  quartered  there,  until  the  Guardsman 
jumped  up  in  a  rage,  cursing  impartially  the  whole 
Latin  quarter. 

"  If  you  think  Belleville  is  so  funny,  come  up  and 
see :  come  up  and  tell  us  how  funny  we  are  ! "  he 
shouted  ;  "  Henri  Rochefort  will  answer  you — Major 
Flourens  will  reply  to  you — Monsieur  Buckhurst  may 
have  a  word  to  say  !  What  is  the  Latin  quarter,  any 
way,  but  a  gutter  full  of  cocottes  and  students  and 
imbecile  professors!  Don't  tell  me  !  And  just  wait 


THE  PROPHECY.  I2/ 

a  bit.  The  dance  is  beginning,  my  friend,  and  the 
red  flag  is  a  better  flag  than  Badinguet's  tri-coloured 
horse  blanket !  " 

The  cafe  was  in  an  uproar  by  this  time  ;  the  scout 
dashed  a  glass  of  red  wine  into  the  Guardsman's  face, 
somebody  in  the  room  threw  a  chair  at  somebody 
else,  howls  and  curses  mingled  with  the  crash  of 
crockery,  until  somebody  shrieked  :  "  I'm  stabbed  !  " 
and  there  was  a  rush  for  the  door. 

Bourke  found  himself  out  on  the  sidewalk,  warding 
off  the  cuffs  and  kicks  of  several  enthusiastic  citizens 
who  kept  shouting:  "He's  a  Prussian  spy!  Kill 
him  !  "  until  the  hazard  of  battle  brought  Harewood 
to  his  aid.  Together  they  managed  to  back  out  of 
the  crush  in  good  order  until  darkness  enabled  them 
to  prudently  efface  themselves  in  the  rue  de  Medecine. 
And  it  was  well  they  did,  for  the  cry  of  "  Spy  "  in 
Paris  at  that  period  meant  rough  usage  first  and  in 
quiry  later — sometimes  too  late. 

"  Damnation  !  "  said  Harewood,  furiously,  holding 
up  a  tattered  sleeve,  "  I've  a  mind  to  use  my  revolver 
next  time,  and  I'll  do  it,  too  !  Idiots !  I'll  show  them 
who's  a  spy — yes,  I  will,  Cecil !  " 

"You'd  better  not,"  said  Bourke,  grimly  regarding 
his  own  dishevelled  attire.  "  There's  no  telling  what 
your  Parisians  may  do  in  this  crisis.  Jim,  you  heard 
what  that  rat-faced  soldier  said  about  Buckhurst?  Of 
course  we'll  cable  it — but — what  would  you  think  of 
arresting  the  fellow  and  getting  the  government  to 
hold  him  for  extradition  ?  " 

"  Government !  What  government  ?  Not  this 
crazy  aggregation  in  Paris?  What's  the  use?  They 
won't  do  it ;  they  won't  dare  touch  him  if  he's  hand 


128  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

in  glove  with  the  Belleville  gang.  Didn't  you  hear 
the  soldier  couple  his  name  with  Rochefort's  and 
Flourens'  ?  Probably  he's  one  of  the  shining  lights  of 
their  cutthroat  club,  the  Undertakers !  " 

Bourke  looked  up  suddenly. 

"  Jim,  that's  what  we'll  do ;  we'll  go  to  Belleville 
to-night  and  attend  a  stance  of  the  Undertakers  !  " 

Harewood  nodded  uncertainly. 

"  You  remember  I  have  a  friend  at  court  there,  the 
Mouse,"  he  said  ;  "  but,  as  you  suggested,  it's  possible 
that  he  may  attempt  to  cut  our  throats  as  an  ex~ 
pression  of  good  will." 

Bourke  hesitated.  He  looked  sharply  at  Harewood, 
undecided,  a  little  curious  to  know  how  his  comrade 
would  act. 

"  Do  you  care  to  go  ? "  he  asked,  after  a  pause. 
"  You  needn't — on  my  account." 

"  Yes,  if  you  are  going,"  replied  Harewood,  pleas 
antly. 

"Come  ahead,  then,"  said  Bourke,  wondering 
whether  Harewood  had  accepted  the  risk  through 
recklessness,  a  reporter's  instinct  of  rivalry,  or  an 
unwillingness  to  let  him  take  the  risk  alone. 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE  UNDERTAKERS. 

THE  Reign  of  Terror  inoculated  Paris  with  a  virus, 
the  first  symptom  of  which  was  an  eruption  of  "  clubs." 
A  hundred  years  later  the  city  was  again  violently 
infected ;  the  Third  Empire  poisoned  Paris,  and  a 
fresh  outbreak  of  "  clubs "  followed,  aggrevated  by 
the  declaration  of  war  in  July,  1870.  Now  that  the 
German  armies  were  closing  in  on  the  city,  the  irre 
sponsible  mania  for  organising  clubs  increased  to  such 
an  extent  that,  in  certain  quarters  of  Paris,  every 
street  had  its  club.  And,  of  all  the  clubs  organised 
to  discuss  politics  or  to  combat  political  parties,  the 
grimmest,  the  most  sinister,  the  most  thoroughly 
revolutionary,  was  the  so-called  "  Undertakers  club " 
of  Belleville. 

In  the  beginning  this  club  had  been  extremely 
radical  but  perfectly  sane.  It  flickered  into  life  with 
the  birth  of  the  Third  Empire,  blazed  like  a  comet  dur 
ing  the  fusillades  of  the  boulevards  and  streets,  and 
finally  went  out  like  a  greasy  candle,  leaving  a  doubt 
ful  stench  in  the  city.  The  flame,  however,  was  re 
lighted  when  Napoleon  III  declared  war  against  his 
"  good  brother,"  King  Wilhelm  of  Prussia  ;  and  when 
that  mild-natured  and  sentimental  old  monarch  left 
his  becabbaged  estates  to  chastise  his  "  bad  brother," 
Napoleon,  the  Undertakers  stirred  in  their  slumbers. 


130  ASHES  OF  EMPIRE. 

The  resurrection  of  the  Undertakers  was  accom 
plished  through  three  circumstances,  the  Franco- 
Prussian  war,  the  will  of  God  and  Jack  Buckhurst. 

Where  Buckhurst  came  from,  how  he  came,  why 
he  came,  no  one  knew ;  but  in  a  week  he  had  all 
Belleville  aflame,  clamouring  for  whatever  he  told  it 
to  clamour  for.  He  walked  into  the  Undertakers 
one  evening,  demanded  an  election,  got  it ;  demanded 
the  privilege  of  the  tribune,  got  it ;  demanded  a 
revision  of  the  constitution,  a  ballot  for  new  officers, 
a  new  watchwood,  a  new  policy,  and  got  everything 
he  demanded.  Then,  with  terrible  vindictiveness,  he 
turned  on  the  semi-sane  minority,  crushed  it  and 
drove  it  from  the  quarter ;  and,  when  denounced  and 
accused  by  Carl  Marx  from  his  exile,  he  defied  the  In 
ternational,  and  was  overwhelmingly  elected  president 
of  the  Undertakers. 

If  the  Undertakers  had  once  been  radical — even 
revolutionary — now  it  was  of  the  "  Reds,"  reddest. 
All  the  worst  elements  of  Belleville  entered  into  its 
composition,  its  walls  rang  with  furious  denunciations 
of  all  existing  social  order,  its  motto  was  "  disorder, 
destruction,  death  !  " 

If  Buckhurst  had  not  been  the  devil's  own  prophet, 
if  he  had  not  foreseen  what  was  to  be,  if  he  had  not 
known  as  surely  as  the  sun  rises  that  the  Commune 
was  coming,  coming  inexorably  after  the  brief  war 
cloud  had  blown  clear  of  a  humiliated  nation,  the  Un 
dertakers  would  never  have  lifted  a  finger  to  equip  a 
battalion  for  the  defense  of  Paris.  But  Buckhurst 
saw  further ;  he  knew  that  every  new  marching  bat 
talion  from  Belleville  meant,  for  him  and  his,  a  veteran 
reserve  in  time  of  need.  His  need  would  come  when 


THE   UNDERTAKERS.  131 

the  Commune  came.  So  when  two  organised  bat 
talions  of  the  National  Guard  elected  Flourens  their 
commandant,  Buckhurst  rose  in  the  tribune  and  called 
for  volunteers  to  form  a  third  battalion.  He  knew 
what  he  was  doing,  he  crushed  opposition  and  won  his 
point,  and  the  Undertakers  fixed  a  night  for  the 
mustering  in  of  their  battalion  and  a  reception  to 
"Major"  Flourens.  All  this,  of  course,  was  contrary 
to  law,  military  and  civil ;  there  was  no  such  title  as 
major  in  the  National  Guard,  but  the  government 
dared  not  antagonise  Belleville  at  such  a  moment. 

When  Bourke  and  Harewood  entered  the  hall,  no 
body  apparently  paid  them  the  slightest  attention. 
They  slipped  quietly  up  stairs  to  the  wooden  gallery, 
found  a  seat  on  the  steps  between  two  aisles,  and 
looked  down  at  the  tumult  below.  A  thick  fog  of 
tobacco  smoke  hung  over  everything,  through  which 
gas  jets  burned  with  pale,  attenuated,  spearlike  flames. 
High  on  the  three  seats  of  the  tribune,  behind  the 
pulpit-shaped  desks,  sat  three  men ;  on  the  right, 
Flourens,  young,  flushed,  handsome,  blue  eyes  dilated 
and  nostrils  fairly  quivering  with  impatience,  on  the  left 
sat  Mortier,  all  body  and  bandy  legs,  with  the  eyes  of  a 
lunatic  deep  set  under  a  high,  bald,  domelike  forehead. 

In  the  middle,  Buckhurst  sat. 

Harewood  and  Bourke  leaned  forward,  eyes  fixed 
on  this  incomprehensible  international  criminal.  He 
sat  there,  pale  eyes  set  in  a  paler  face,  a  man  of  forty, 
lithe  of  movement,  well  proportioned,  dainty  of  hand 
and  foot.  There  was  a  hardness  about  his  smoothly 
shaven  face,  yet  each  feature  was  well  nigh  perfect — 
except  his  eyes.  These  were  so  pale  in  colour  that, 
in  the  gas  flare,  they  looked  almost  pearly. 


132  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

The  hall  was  packed  with  the  Undertakers  and  their 
friends,  sitting  cheek  by  jowl  around  hundreds  of  little 
iron  tables,  sloppy  with  beer  dregs  and  the  blue-black 
lees  of  cheap  wine.  Everybody  was  smoking,  cheer 
ing,  screeching,  hammering  beer  mugs  on  the  round 
iron  tables  ;  women  waved  wine  glasses  in  the  smoke- 
choked  glare ;  soldiers  of  the  National  Guard  banged 
on  the  floor  with  bayonets  and  sword-sheaths.  Red 
flags  were  draped  around  the  hall  alternating  writh 
hideous  decorations,  mostly  emblems  of  death  and  the 
undertaker's  profession.  In  the  midst  of  the  uproar, 
the  foul,  smoke-reeking  atmosphere,  and  stench  of 
stale  beer,  half-a-dozen  well-fed  reporters  sat  writing 
at  a  long  table  which  stood  directly  in  front  of  the 
base  of  the  tribune.  Their  sleek,  ruddy  faces,  their 
well-groomed  persons,  silk  hats,  ivory-handled  walking 
sticks,  fat  cigars  tucked  under  waxed  mustaches,  pre 
sented  a  picture  at  once  incongruous  and  reassuring. 
Oblivious  to  the  crowd,  the  stench,  the  furious 
fulminations  from  militant  anarchists,  denouncing 
everything,  including  the  Maker  of  everything,  these 
reporters  scribbled  away  at  their  pads,  sharpened  pen 
cils  or  flicked  the  ashes  from  good  cigars,  under  the 
very  noses — in  the  very  faces — of  the  most  irrespon 
sible  crowd  of  ruffians  that  ever  gathered  to  encourage 
each  other's  criminal  instincts. 

Mortier  began  to  speak,  rising  on  his  crooked  legs, 
his  long  throat  swathed  in  a  red  handkerchief.  Under 
the  grotesque  dome  of  his  bald  forehead,  his  villainous 
face  contracted  till  the  scrubby  beard  bristled.  When 
he  opened  the  black  cavern  of  his  mouth  a  single  tooth 
broke  the  monotony  of  his  grinning  gums. 

He  spoke  fora  long  time,  his  piercing  voice  splitting 


THE   UNDERTAKERS.  133 

the  choked  atmosphere  till  the  crowd  howled  again 
and  the  dreadful  tumult  broke  back  from  the  echoing 
rafters  into  a  very  hell  of  sound. 

Flourens  followed,  speaking  first  earnestly,  then 
with  frightful  impetuosity.  He  leaped  to  the  platform 
before  his  desk  and  stretched  out  his  arm.  Every 
movement  set  the  gaslight  glittering  and  shimmering 
over  the  gilded  arabesques  on  his  uniform.  The  crowd 
roared,  mad  with  exultation. 

Then  Buckhurst  rose. 

At  the  first  quiet  word  a  hush  fell  over  the  hall ;  his 
voice  was  placid,  passionless,  cool  and  grateful  as  sum 
mer  showers. 

"  Citizens,"  he  said,  "  you  have  organised  your  bat 
talion,  you  have  added  your  voices  to  the  voices  of 
the  other  two  battalions  ;  a  legion  has  been  formed  ; 
Major  Flourens  is  your  leader.  The  government  says 
that  he  is  not.  We  differ  from  the  government — we 
expect  to  differ  more  seriously  still — when  the  time 
comes.  At  present  we  can  afford  to  wait.  But  a  time 
is  very  near  when  orders  that  come  from  the  Palais 
Bourbon  will  be  countermanded  by  orders  issued  from 
the  Hotel  de  Ville.  The  Undertakers  need  a  larger 
hall — the  Hotel  de  Ville  is  not  too  large." 

Frantic  cheering  checked  him  for  a  moment.  Then 
he  resumed: 

"  For  a  time  it  is  best  that  we  go  to  the  ramparts, 
that  we  fight  the  Prussians  under  the  tri-colour.  This 
is  policy — for  the  moment.  But — policies  change  ; 
so  do  flags ;  so  does  what  is  now  called  patriotism. 

"  Citizen  Mortier  has  reminded  you  that  universal 
brotherhood  is  not  compatible  with  patriotism,  that 
the  red  flag  of  revolt  is  the  universal  banner  of  human 


134  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

brotherhood,  that  there  is  nobler  game  for  your  rifle 
bullets  than  the  hearts  of  battle-driven  peasants,  who, 
although  Prussians,  are  your  brothers  and  your  com 
rades  in  arms  against  the  wealth  of  all  the  world.  It 
is  well  to  bear  this  in  mind — and  wait. 

"And  now,  as  you  have  elected  Major  Flourens 
chief  of  the  new  legion,  and  as  you  have  elected  me 
commandant  of  your  battalion,  I  ask  you  for  the  privi 
lege  of  naming  to  you  two  of  my  fellow-countrymen 
for  election  as  captains  in  the  third  battalion." 

"  Name  them  !     Name  them  !  "  shouted  the  crowd. 

Bourke  leaned  over  the  balcony,  clutching  Hare- 
wood's  arm. 

"  By  heaven  !  "  he  whispered,  "  do  you  see  who  he's 
going  to  name  ?  " 

Harewood,  mute  with  astonishment,  stared  down 
at  the  platform,  where  two  men  had  mounted  from  the 
crowded  floor  and  now  stood  facing  Buckhurst. 

The  two  men  were  Speyer  and  Stauffer. 

Amid  a  whirlwind  of  applause,  their  names  were 
presented  and  accepted.  Buckhurst  administered  the 
oath.  Flourens  dramatically  returned  their  salutes  ; 
Mortier,  his  ape-like  face  stained  a  dull  red  with 
excitement,  sat  behind  his  desk,  on  which  lay  a  pile  of 
red  cocardes.  His  little  insane  eyes  snapped  as 
Speyer  and  Stauffer  marched  up  to  be  invested  with 
the  badge  of  anarchy ;  the  crowd  howled ;  drums 
and  bugles  crashed  out ;  the  meeting  was  at  an  end. 
Suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  the  tumult,  Harewood 
felt  that  somebody  on  the  swarming  floor  below  was 
looking  straight  at  him.  He  turned  his  head  un 
easily  ;  Buckhurst's  colourless  eyes  met  his  own.  For 
a  full  minute  they  gazed  silently  at  each  other  across 


THE   UNDERTAKERS.  135 

that  smoke-reeking  chaos ;  the  bugle's  ear-splitting 
racket,  the  crashing  of  brazen  drums,  the  echoing 
howl  died  away  in  Harewood's  ears  ;  he  only  heard  a 
clear,  penetrating  voice  repeating,  "  Silence,  silence, 
if  you  please,  gentlemen,"  and  Buckhurst,  with  his 
eyes  still  fixed  on  him,  touched  Speyer  on  the  elbow. 
Stauffer,  too,  was  looking  up  now  ;  Speyer  had  turned 
livid  when  he  saw  Harewood. 

"  Come,"  muttered  Bourke,  "  we  might  as  well  get 
out  of  this,"  and  he  moved  toward  the  stairway, 
Harewood  following. 

As  they  reached  the  last  step  and  started  to  push 
through  the  crowded  doors,  a  hand  fell  lightly  on 
Harewood's  shoulder;  Buckhurst  stood  beside  him. 

The  involuntary  start  that  Harewood  gave  com 
municated  itself  to  Bourke  ;  he  also  turned  to  con 
front  Speyer  and  Stauffer. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Buckhurst,  speaking  in  English, 
"your  faces  are  familiar  to  me.  Captain  Speyer  tells 
me  that  you  are  reporters.  Do  you  know  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Harewood,  sullenly.  Buckhurst's  pale 
eyes  stole  around  to  Bourke,  then  returned  directly 
to  Harewood. 

"  Of  course,"  he  said,  placidly,  "  if  you  cable  any 
thing  unpleasant  about  me  I'll  have  your  throat 
cut." 

Harewood  started  on  again  toward  the  door,  but 
Speyer  jerked  him  back,  saying  savagely  :  "  Listen  ! 
Do  you  hear?"  and  Buckhurst  added  quietly: 

"You'd  better  listen." 

If  Bourke  had  not  gripped  Harewood's  arm  in  time, 
Speyer's  face  would  have  suffered.  With  clenched 
fists  Harewood  pushed  toward  him  ;  Buckhurst  flung 


136  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

him  back,  showing  his  teeth  slightly,  his  face  distorted 
with  that  ghastly  smile  that  none  who  had  ever  seen 
it  could  forget. 

"  If  you  cable  for  my  extradition,"  he  said,  "  I'll  cut 
your  throat  as  a  spy  !  " 

"  Spy  ?  "  stammered  Harewood,  furiously. 

"  Yes,  an  Imperial  spy  who  aided  the  Empress  to 
escape  from  the  Tuileries.  You  fool,  don't  you  think 
I  know  ?  You  and  your  comrade  and  two  women 
named  Chalais — you  aided  the  Empress !  " 

Harewood  was  dumb ;  Bourke  stared  at  Speyer, 
who  sneered  in  his  face;  "  You  want  a  witness?  I 
am  the  witness,"  said  Speyer. 

Buckhurst  turned  fiercely  on  Bourke  : 

"  Look  out !  "  he  whispered  ;  "  don't  try  any  of  your 
damned  newspaper  tricks  on  me.  The  government 
last  night  decreed  the  expulsion  of  every  dissolute 
woman  from  Paris  during  the  siege,  and  if  you  give 
me  any  trouble  I'll  set  the  police  on  your  charming 
little  Chalais  girls  !  " 

Harewood  struggled  to  strike  him  ;  Buckhurst  faced 
him,  one  hand  in  his  coat  pocket. 

"  I've  got  a  pistol  in  my  pocket,"  he  said.  "  It 
covers  you.  If  it  wasn't  that  I  don't  want  a  row  that 
might  lead  to  an  investigation,  I'd  shoot  you  now. 
Stand  back  !  Get  out  of  here,  and  keep  your  mouth 
shut,  or  I'll  let  the  whole  hall  trample  your  face  into 
the  floor!" 

Harewood,  white  to  the  lips,  jostled  by  the  crowd 
pouring  through  the  doors,  strove  to  keep  his  position 
in  front  of  Buckhurst.  He  looked  into  the  pale, 
merciless  eyes,  he  saw  the  outlines  of  fist  and  levelled 
pistol  in  the  black  side  pocket  of  Buckhurst's  coat. 


THE   UNDERTAKERS.  137 

He  saw,  too,  suspicious  faces  peering  at  him  from  the 
passing  crowd — dark,  sullen  eyes,  burning  with  the 
smouldering  fire  of  frenzy.  Speyer  sneered  at  him. 
Stauffer's  weak  blond  face  relaxed  into  an  insulting 
smile. 

"  Come,"  muttered  Bourke,  "  there  is  nothing  to 
do,"  and  he  laid  his  hand  on  Harewood's  arm. 

"  No,"  said  Harewood  aloud,  "  there  is  nothing  to 
do — now." 

Buckhurst  heard.  His  thin  lips  receded  again, 
showing  an  edge  of  snow-white  teeth. 

"  Neither  now  nor  later,"  he  said,  softly.  "  Leave 
this  hall ! " 

Speyer  cut  in :  "  If  you  give  us  any  trouble,  the 
Governor  of  Paris  shall  know  how  the  Empress 
escaped  !  And  you  can  take  yourself  out  of  the  rue 
d'Ypres,  too — bag  and  baggage — and  women  !  " 

Bourke  had  dragged  Harewood  back  to  the  door, 
repeating  in  a  whisper :  "  For  God's  sake,  Jim,  let 
them  alone  !  Let  them  alone  !  "  Buckhurst  followed 
slowly,  Speyer  at  his  elbow,  Stauffer  in  the  rear.  Be 
hind  them  the  lights  were  being  turned  out  in  the 
empty  hall ;  in  the  dark  street  outside  the  foul  side 
walks,  wet  with  an  autumn  shower,  reflected  the  flick 
ering  flame  of  a  single  lamp-post. 

Bourke,  urging  Harewood,  backed  out  into  the 
street  ;  the  night  was  appalling  in  its  fathomless  black 
ness  ;  the  leaves  on  an  unseen  tree  stirred  somewhere 
above  them. 

"They've  followed  us,"  whispered  Bourke,  straining 
his  eyes  back  to  the  black,  gaping  door  of  the  hall. 
"  Listen,  Jim  !  " 

The   silence   was   absolute.     Down  the   street  the; 


138  ASHES  OF  EMPIRE. 

single  gas  jet  burned  uncertainly,  now  flaring  up  into 
a  yellow  patch  of  light,  now  sinking  to  a  blue  spark. 

Suddenly  Harewood  felt  the  haunting  presence  of 
something  that  he  neither  saw  nor  heard  ;  it  was  close 
to  him,  there  in  the  shadow,  moving  nearer.  Then 
the  darkness  seemed  to  part  before  his  eyes,  a  shaft  of 
flame  singed  his  brow  and  the  narrow  street  resounded 
with  the  racket  of  a  pistol  shot.  Instantly  he  struck 
out,  and  struck  again,  solidly,  knowing  that  it  was 
Buckhurst  who  had  received  the  blow  full  in  the  face. 
Somebody  slid  the  shutter  from  a  lantern  ;  he  caught 
a  glimpse  of  Bourke  knocking  Stauffer  into  the  gutter, 
of  Buckhurst,  white  face  soiled  with  blood,  groping  on 
the  sidewalk  for  his  revolver,  of  Speyer  swinging  his 
arm  for  a  blow.  The  blow  was  for  Harewood  himself ; 
it  caught  him  fairly  on  the  neck  and  sent  him  flat. 
Dazed,  he  struggled  to  rise  ;  a  knee  pressed  him  back, 
a  knife  glimmered  in  the  lantern  light,  falling  swiftly 
towards  him,  only  to  be  caught  by  another  knife  and 
sent  whirling.  And  now  he  was  on  his  feet  again,  and 
again  the  blinding  flash  of  a  pistol  dazzled  him,  half 
revealing  a  swarm  of  dark,  hurrying  figures  closing  in 
around  them.  It  revealed  something  else,  too — the 
hard  face  of  the  Mouse,  starting  from  the  shadows  at 
his  elbow. 

"  This  way,  monsieur,"  muttered  the  Mouse ; 
"  hold  to  my  arm  !  " 

A  lantern  fell  violently  to  the  sidewalk,  rolled 
around,  and  went  out,  leaving  a  stench  of  petroleum 
in  the  air.  There  was  a  sudden  rush,  a  collision, 
angry,  panting  voices,  the  dull  sound  of  blows,  a  shrill 
cry  :  "  the  police  !  "  Harewood,  running  through  the 
darkness,  one  hand  on  the  Mouse's  arm,  turned 


THE  UNDERTAKERS.  139 

sharply  with  his  guide  into  a  broader  street,  lighted 
by  a  dozen  lamps.  At  the  same  instant  Bourke 
rounded  the  opposite  corner  and  met  them  face  to 
face.  For  a  minute  they  stood  there  breathless, 
listening  to  the  distant  shouting  and  trampling  that 
gradually  grew  duller,  as  though  the  affray  had  almost 
subsided. 

"  Mince !  "  said  the  Mouse,  thrusting  his  tongue 
into  the  corner  of  his  cheek  and  holding  up  a  broad- 
bladed  knife;  "I  was  just  in  time,  eh,  monsieur?" 
He  shuffled  his  feet  reflectively,  glanced  obliquely  at 
Bourke,  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  laughed,  nodding 
half  patronizingly  when  j,Harewood  began  to  thank 
him. 

"  Bah — that  is  nothing,  my  friend  !  There  are 
miracles  in  Belleville  when  the  Mouse  patters  through 
the  dark.  Besides,  the  four  winds  blow  for  nothing, 
but  it  costs  money  to  live." 

"  Come  to  the  rue  d'Ypres  to-morrow,"  said  Hare- 
wood,  soberly,  "and  the  four  winds  will  blow  you 
something  besides  air." 

"  At  your  service,"  said  the  Mouse,  with  impudent 
condescension,  "  and,  messieurs,  I  have  the  honour." 

He  bowed  with  exaggerated  politeness,  turned  on 
his  ragged  heel,  and  slouched  off  into  the  night. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

IN   THE  MOONLIGHT. 

WHEN  Harewood  and  Bourke  entered  the  rue 
d'Ypres,  a  thin  rain  was  falling,  driven  by  sudden  little 
volleys  of  wind  that  grew  colder  and  more  violent  as 
the  rain  thickened. 

They  stood  for  a  moment  looking  out  into  the 
black  void  beyond  the  ramparts.  There  was  nothing 
to  see,  not  a  star,  not  a  sentry — nothing  but  quiver 
ing  sheets  of  rain  slanting  across  dim  signal  lamps  set 
low  on  the  bastions. 

Bourke  unlocked  the  door  noiselessly  :  Harewood 
followed  him  up  stairs  and  into  his  own  bedroom  ;  and, 
as  he  struck  a  match  and  lighted  the  lamp,  he  felt  a 
sudden  ease,  a  sense  of  home-coming — something  he 
had  not  known  in  months.  Bourke  answered  his  un 
spoken  thoughts.  "Yes — it  is  very  pleasant  to  get 
back,  Jim.  I  think  I'll  turn  in  directly." 

Harewood  sat  down  on  the  bed  ;  his  glance  wan 
dered  around  the  lamp-lit  room,  resting  finally  on  the 
windows. 

"  Somebody  has  filled  the  window  frames  with  oiled 
paper,"  he  said  listlessly  ;  "  do  you  suppose  the  Prophet 
shattered  the  glass?" 

"  Probably,"  said  Bourke. 

The  rain  rattled  on  the  oiled  paper ;  gust  after  gust 
set  it  crackling  and  bulging  inward.  Bourke  started 


IN   THE    MOONLIGHT.  141 

aimlessly  toward  the  door,  halted,  returned  and  leaned 
on  the  footboard  of  the  bed. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  he  asked  wearily. 

"  About  Buckhurst  ?  " 

''Yes." 

"  I  don't  know." 

After  a  minute  of  silence  Bourke  resumed :  "  I'd 
cable  in  a  moment  if  it  wasn't  for  the  threat  he  made 
about  Yolette  and  Hilde." 

Harewood's  face  grew  red,  but  he  did  not  look  up. 

"  General  Trochu  is  a  strange  man,"  continued 
Bourke.  "  If  those  blackguards  should  denounce 
Yolette  and  Hilde,  and  bring  a  lot  of  ruffians  to  swear 
to  anything,  who  can  tell  what  might  happen  ?  " 

"  You  mean  that  the  Governor  might  expel  them — 
under  the  law  covering  the  temporary  expulsion  of 
dissolute  women  ?  "  demanded  Harewood  with  an  effort. 

"Yes,"  replied  Bourke,  "  that's  what  I  mean." 

Again  a  silence  ensued,  broken,  at  length,  by 
Bourke. 

"  As  for  Buckhurst's  threat  to  cut  our  throats — of 
course  that  bothers  neither  of  us — at  least  it  wouldn't 
prevent  our  cabling.  But  I  shall  not  cable  now,  and 
risk  ruining  the  lives  of  these  two  girls." 

"  No,"  said  Harewood,  "  we  cannot  cable."  Then 
he  looked  up,  his  face  so  transformed  with  rage  that 
Bourke  involuntarily  recoiled. 

"  Cecil,"  he  whispered,  "  if  they  ever  trouble  Hilde 
I'll  kill  them  both — I'll  kill  them  both,  when  and 
where  I  can  !  " 

Bourke  did  not  reply.  Gradually  the  fierce  hate 
faded  from  Harewood's  face.  He  rested  his  chin  on 
his  hand,  eyes  vacant,  lips  parted. 


I42  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

"  You  see,  they've  got  us,  Cecil,"  he  said,  more 
quietly  ;  "  don't  you  remember  meeting  Speyer  in  the 
crowd,  when  we  were  watching  the  Tuileries.  Of 
course  he  saw  us  when  Hild£  and  Yolette  gave  up  the 
cab  to  the  Empress.  I  suppose  he  can  annoy  us  if  he 
tries,  and  I'm  sure  he's  going  to  try." 

"It's  curious,"  reflected  Bourke,  "how  anxious 
he  and  StaufTer  seem  to  be  to  get  us  out  of  this 
house.  And  their  returning  the  other  day  to  re-en 
gage  rooms  is  queer,  too.  What  do  you  suppose  they 
want  ?  " 

Harewood  rose  suddenly  and  began  to  walk  up  and 
down,  hands  clasped  behind  his  back.  Presently  he 
halted  before  his  comrade  : 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  think  ?  I  believe  Speyer  is 
a  German  spy  !  " 

"Eh?     Spy?"  repeated  Bourke,  blankly. 

"Yes,  spy  !  Why  did  he  enlist  in  a  Belleville  bat 
talion  ?  Do  war  correspondents  do  that?  Why  is  he 
fawning  and  flattering  the  Belleville  revolutionists  ? 
To  get  news  for  his  miserable  German-American  sheet? 
Not  much  ;  war  news  is  more  important  to  Americans 
than  a  report  of  anarchist  squabbles  in  the  slums  of 
Paris.  I'll  tell  you  why  he's  cringing  to  Buckhurst 
and  Flourens  :  he's  a  paid  emissary  of  Bismarck,  hired 
to  stir  up  internal  strife  in  Paris  while  the  Germans 
pound  the  forts  to  bits  outside.  And  I'll  bet  you, 
Cecil,  that  he  never  was  anything  but  a  spy  ;  what  has 
he  done  for  his  paper  in  New  York  ?  Nothing.  Its 
columns  are  filled  with  stolen  despatches  and  special 
work  from  all  the  other  papers.  Speyer  is  a  spy  :  he 
has  corrupted  Stauffer,  too.  As  for  Buckhurst — I  be 
lieve  he's  only  a  criminal  who  gives  his  life  to  anarchy 


IN  THE   MOONLIGHT.  143 

just  now  because  he  believes  there's  something  in  it 
for  himself.  That  is  my  theory." 

Bourke  stood  by  the  bed,  eagerly  attentive,  acquies 
cing  with  nods  and  gestures  as  Harewood  proceeded : 

"  He  tried  to  stab  me  there  in  the  street  when  I  was 
down  ;  he  had  his  knee  on  my  chest  ;  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  the  Mouse,  I  don't  know — I  don't  know,  Cecil — 
but  I  think  he  meant  to  cut  my  throat." 

He  looked  up  into  Bourke's  face,  soberly,  beginning 
for  the  first  time  to  realise  his  recent  danger. 

"  The  Mouse  is  a  grateful  beast,  after  all,"  he  con 
tinued.  "  I  never  thought  anything  about  bread  cast 
upon  the  waters,  you  know." 

"  Cast  more,"  said  Bourke,  seriously ;  "  it's  a  good 
scheme,  Jim." 

Opening  the  door,  he  added  :  "  We'll  cable  nothing 
about  Buckhurst  for  the  present.  Good  night ;  I'm 
fit  for  sleep,  I  think." 

"  Good  night,"  replied  Harewood,  absently. 

After  Bourke  had  gone  away  he  sat  for  a  while  on 
his  bed,  listening  to  the  drumming  of  rain-drops  on 
the  paper  window-panes*.  He  thought  he  could  sleep, 
but  when  he  lay  among  the  chilly  sheets  his  lids  re 
mained  open  in  the  dark.  It  was  Buckhurst's  colour 
less  eyes  that  haunted  him — that,  and  the  memory  of 
the  pistol  flash,  the  momentary  impression  of  Buck- 
hurst's  ashen  face,  streaked  with  blood,  as  he  groped 
on  the  sidewalk  for  the  pistol.  The  blood  ?  That 
had  been  his  doing.  Twice  he  had  struck  Buckhurst 
heavily  between  those  pale  eyes.  And,  as  he  lay  there, 
he  knew  that  this  dreaded  criminal  would  never  forget, 
never  rest  until  he  had  satisfied  a  criminal's  ruling  pas 
sion — revenge. 


144  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

Harewood,  resting  motionless  among  his  pillows, 
heard  the  wind  rising  in  the  night,  heard  the  sudden 
creak  and  swing  of  storm-shaken  shutters,  the  swelling 
monotone  of  the  rain.  It  seemed  to  beat  on  his  heart ; 
he  felt  the  harmony  of  the  million  drops,  the  swift 
shafts  of  wind-swept  rain  blowing  over  vast  valleys, 
over  hills  and  plains  and  the  crinkled  surface  of  un 
seen  rivers. 

He  wondered  whether  the  Prussians  were  very  near 
— how  soon  their  black  shells  would  come  moaning 
and  whistling  over  the  city.  That  very  morning  he 
had  read  the  government  bulletins  warning  the  in 
habitants  of  Paris  to  prepare  for  the  bombardment  by 
placing  valuables  in  the  cellar,  installing  barrels  of 
water  on  roof  and  landings  to  fight  fire,  and  particu 
larly  to  remove  all  paving  stones  from  court  and  side 
walk  in  order  to  lessen  the  effects  of  exploding  shells. 
He  himself  had  seen  workmen  stuffing  the  windows 
and  balconies  of  the  Louvre  with  bedding  and  mat 
tresses  ;  he  had  seen  the  Arc  de  Triomphe  swathed  and 
padded  and  sheathed  for  protection  against  shot  and 
shell.  How  soon  would  the  Germans  arrive?  Which 
way  would  they  come — from  the  north  or  from  the  east  ? 

Outside  the  storm  was  subsiding ;  a  cooler  current 
of  air  swept  across  his  face ;  the  beat  of  rain  on  frame 
and  sill  ceased,  leaving  dropping  echoes  from  rain- 
pipes  and  eaves.  As  the  wind  freshened  the  dripping 
roof-gutters  grew  silent ;  the  soughing  of  the  wind 
through  wet  leaves  filled  the  room.  And  now  he 
could  see  the  shadows  of  moving  branches  outlined 
on  the  paper  panes  where  long  shafts  of  silvery  moon 
light  fell  athwart  the  window  ledge,  turning  the  oiled 
paper  to  sheets  of  palest  gilt. 


IN   THE   MOONLIGHT.  145 

He  could  not  sleep ;  he  crept  from  the  warm  bed 
to  the  window  and  opened  it  a  little  way. 

Vast  masses  of  silvery  clouds  swept  away  into  the 
north,  trailing  in  their  wake  flecks  and  filmy  tatters. 
In  the  midnight  velvet  of  the  sky  rare  stars  twinkled 
like  wet  diamonds  dimmed  by  the  splendid  white  lamp 
of  the  moon. 

Black  ramparts,  sharp-cut  against  the  sky,  stretched 
out  their  angles  east  and  west ;  the  crimson  and  sap 
phire  lanterns  glittered  like  gems,  staining  the  wet 
sidewalks  with  their  colours.  Over  the  bastion  the 
Prophet  rose,  detached  from  the  massed  ramparts,  a 
colossal  shape,  up-tilted,  printed  clean  black  against 
the  horizon. 

Even  the  wind  was  subsiding  now,  leaving  a  clear, 
fresh  odour  of  distant  winter  in  the  air.  The  moon, 
too,  sparkled  with  a  wintry  radiance  ;  the  stars  went 
out  in  its  white  lustre. 

On  wall  and  pavement  the  etched  foliage  no  longer 
moved.  Harewood  leaned  from  the  window  ledge, 
scarcely  breathing  ;  for  the  beauty  of  the  night  was 
upon  him  and  upon  his  soul  was  a  spell. 

He  did  not  know  it ;  he  knelt  heavily  in  the  moon 
light,  chin  on  clasped  hands,  eyes  dreaming.  For  him 
the  breath  of  war  was  far  away  ;  alarms,  rumours,  the 
dull  discontent  of  expectancy,  all  had  vanished  in  this 
placid  shadow  world,  passionless,  unreal  as  a  pale 
sweet  vision. 

And  so,  pensive,  dreaming,  he  rose  and  moved  about, 
unconscious  that  he  was  dressing,  unconscious  why 
he  passed  through  the  door  and  down  the  dusky  stairs, 
deeper,  deeper  into  the  silent  house.  At  last  he 
stood  before  a  closed  door  at  which  he  had  not 
knocked.  It  opened  silently  and  he  went  in. 


146  ASHES  OF  EMPIRE. 

Moonlight  silvered  everything,  the  white  bed,  the 
curtains  clustered  overhead,  the  polished  faience 
Sainte,  smiling  her  set  smile  through  the  shadows ; 
but  Hilda's  hair,  clouding  brow  and  neck,  veiled  her 
pale  face  in  a  shower  of  silk  and  gilt. 

They  did  not  speak ;  she  stood  silent  and  white 
before  the  Sainte ;  he  knelt  beside  her,  holding  her 
hand  against  his  eyes. 

All  by  itself  the  door  swung  softly  to,  and  closed. 

A  clock  ticked  through  the  silence ;  after  a  long 
time  the  weights  slid,  creaking,  and  an  hour  struck. 
There  was  an  imperceptible  movement  of  the  hand 
he  held  pressed  to  his  eyes,  a  soft  stir  of  a  faintly 
fragrant  garment,  delicate  as  lace.  When  he  stood 
up  she  was  waiting ;  he  held  her  waist  imprisoned 
now,  and  her  silky  head ;  she  put  both  arms  around 
his  neck. 

When  he  had  passed  again  through  the  door,  the  per 
fume  of  her  lips  on  his,  she  sank  before  the  corner, 
where,  in  the  meshed  moonlight,  Sainte  Hilde"  of 
Carhaix  smiled.  And  there  she  lay,  faint  with  the 
sweetest  happiness  life  holds  for  maid  or  man. 

As  for  the  man  she  loved,  he  went  blindly  up  the 
dusky  stairs,  groping  for  his  comrade's  door.  And  he 
entered  and  sat  by  his  sleeping  friend. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  SOUL  OF  YOLETTE. 

BOURKE  awoke  with  a  start,  his  ears  ringing  in  a 
din  so  sudden,  so  frightful,  that  for  a  moment  he 
lay,  half  stupefied,  among  his  pillows.  Under  his 
feet,  shock  on  shock,  the  earthquake  outcrash  rocked 
the  house,  the  windows  shook  and  clattered  as  the 
cannon's  lightning,  blast  after  blast,  split  the  keen  air 
of  dawn. 

He  saw  Harewood  at  the  window,  beckoning  him  to 
come,  and  he  went,  shivering  and  stumbling  in  the 
morning  chill. 

"The   forts,"  motioned    Harewood   with    his   lips. 

Far  across  the  shrouded  country,  in  the  pale  dawn, 
five  dim  forts  towered,  crowned  with  clouds;  and 
through  the  clouds,  heaving,  rolling,  floating,  bright 
lightning  darted.  Sudden  yellow  flares  of  light,  spirts 
of  flame,  swift  crimson-jetted  flashes  played  under  the 
canopy  of  smoke.  The  great  fort  of  Issy  steamed 
from  every  embrasure  ;  Vanves  roared  like  a  volcano ; 
from  Montrouge,  Ivry,  Bicetre,  peal  on  peal,  the  rever 
berations  rolled,  until  the  humming  air,  surcharged 
and  overstrained  with  sound,  dinned  in  the  ears  with 
muffled,  deadened  echoes,  that  set  the  sickened  senses 
swimming. 

And  now  it  seemed  as  if  the  wind  had  changed ;  the 


148  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

thunder  blew  clear  of  the  city  as  clouds  blow  before  a 
gale.  There  was  a  sudden  silence,  filled  almost  in 
stantly  by  a  roar  from  the  street  in  front  of  the  house 
— the  shrill,  frenzied  howl  of  a  mob. 

"  The  Prussians  !  " 

Harewood  ran  back  into  his  own  room  and  looked 
out  into  the  street.  It  was  choked  with  people,  men, 
women,  children,  swarming  over  the  ramparts,  shout 
ing,  screaming,  gesticulating,  pointing.  Officers  stood 
out  against  the  sky  on  the  bastion,  the  rising  sun  warm 
ing  their  crimson  caps  and  striking  dazzling  sparks  from 
brass-tipped  field  glasses.  Drums  were  beating  every 
where,  down  by  the  Porte-  Rouge,  in  the  parade  of 
the  Prince  Murat  barracks,  on  every  bastion,  in  every 
guard  house.  The  line  battalions  filed  at  double 
quick  from  their  caserne  ;  the  cannoniers  of  the  Pro 
phet  clustered  over  the  epaulment  and  glacis,  scanning 
the  distant  hills  towards  Viroflay,  Velizy  and  the 
plateau  of  Chatillon. 

Up  in  the  window  Bourke  knelt,  his  marine  glasses 
fixed  on  a  hillside  below  Chaville,  where  a  single 
horseman  stood,  immovable. 

The  horseman  WLJ  a  Prussian  Uhlan. 

Presently  Harewood's  glass  brought  more  Uhlans 
into  focus. 

"  Cecil,"  he  muttered ;  "  they're  right  this  time ! 
The  Prussians  are  here  !  " 

It  was  true  ;  the  first  Uhlans  had  appeared  near 
Versailles  like  buzzards  above  a  wounded  thing. 
When  the  rest  arrived  they  would  sit  around  patiently, 
waiting  for  the  end  of  the  city  lying  at  their  feet. 

"  There's  hell  to  pay  at  the  Point  de  Jour,  too,  if 
anybody  should  ask  you,"  observed  Bourke,  shivering 


THE   SOUL   OF  YOLETTE.  149 

in  his  nightshirt ;  "  the  gunboats  are  firing — look  ! — 
do  you  see  !  " 

"  I  see,"  replied  Harewood,  soberly.  He  turned 
with  a  sudden  gesture.  "  The  siege  has  begun  at 
last,"  he  said. 

Bourke  nodded. 

After  a  silence  Harewood  burst  out ;  "  I  wish  to 
heaven  we  were  out  of  this !  " 

"  What's  that  ?  "  asked  the  other  sharply. 

But  Harewood  turned  away  wearily,  saying : 

"You  can't  understand ;  never  mind,  I  wish  I  were 
— I  wish  I  were — 

"  What  ?  "  demanded  Bourke. 

"  Dead,"  snapped  Harewood,  sulkily,  and  went  out 
of  the  room. 

"What's  the  matter  with  him  now,"  mused  the 
other,  closing  the  window  and  entering  his  own  bed 
room. 

When  Bourke  had  dressed  and  descended  the  stairs 
to  the  dining-room,  he  found  Yolette  sitting  alone  at 
the  table.  She  looked  up  as  he  entered  ;  there  were 
traces  of  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"  It  is  foolish,"  she  said,  smiling;  "the  cannon  have 
frightened  us — Hilde  will  not  leave  her  room.  I 
carried  chocolate  to  her,  but  she  will  not  even  open 
her  door.  Has  the  siege  begun  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  has,"  said  Bourke,  lightly  ;  "perhaps  it 
will  be  more  noise  than  anything  else.  Where  is 
Monsieur  Harewood?  " 

"  He  has  gone  to  the  city  ;  he  would  eat  nothing. 
Are  you  also  going  to  the  city  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Bourke. 

They  finished  breakfast  in  silence.     Yolette's  blue 


ISO  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

eyes  were  half  raised  from  time  to  time,  but  Bourke's 
eyes  were  on  his  plate.  Before  he  rose  he  looked  up 
absently  ;  something  in  the  swift  droop  of  Yolette's 
clear  eyes  arrested  his  own.  A  light  colour  touched 
his  cheeks  and  temples ;  he  made  an  unconscious 
movement  to  rise  and  go — the  first  instinct  of  a 
prosaic  man  who  surprises  the  soul  in  a  woman's  eyes. 

She  made  no  movement ;  the  white  sash  curtains 
behind  her  stirred  in  the  morning  wind. 

Under  such  circumstances  it  takes  a  truly  prosaic 
man  ten  seconds  to  make  up  his  mind  that  he  is  mis 
taken.  Eight  seconds  were  sufficient  for  Bourke.  He 
slid  into  his  chair,  looked  at  Yolette,  swallowed  his 
coffee  with  serious  satisfaction,  and  helped  himself  to 
a  finger  bowl. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  said,  "  that  Monsieur  Harewood 
has  gone  to  the  telegraph  office  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Yolette,  without  raising  her 
eyes. 

"  Does  anything  trouble  you  ?  "  he  asked.  He  had 
no  tact. 

Yolette  looked  up,  confused,  pink  with  resentment. 

"  Why,  of  course  not,  Monsieur  Bourke." 

Vaguely  uneasy,  he  stood  up  as  she  rose.  He  was 
aware  that  some  subtle  condition  of  mind  threatened 
to  change  existing  conditions.  There  was  a  sense  of 
expectancy  already  developing  in  his  own  mind,  a 
mental  attitude  of  preparation  for  something  or  other 
that  began  to  disturb  him.  He  looked  curiously  at 
Yolette :  he  noted  the  white  neck,  the  silken  blue- 
black  hair,  the  eyes  fringed  deeply  with  the  same  colour. 

"  I  am  going,"  said  Yolette,  "  to  see  Scheherazade. 
If  she  bites  me,  I  shall  be  very  unhappy." 


THE   SOUL  OF  YOLETTE.  151 

"  Bite  you,"  repeated  Bourke. 

"  Yes.  The  poor  darling  is  almost  out  of  her  senses 
with  the  cannonade.  She  is  so  frightened  she  runs 
around  and  around  the  garden  and  slinks  close  to  the 
ground  and  snarls  dreadfully." 

As  Yolette  spoke  she  walked  toward  the  garden 
door  and  Bourke  followed.  He  would  not  allow  her 
to  precede  him  into  the  garden,  and  when  they  stood 
together  at  the  door  he  unconsciously  placed  his  hand 
on  her  arm  and  stepped  in  front. 

"  Let  me  go  and  call  her,"  said  Yolette,  starting 
across  the  grass,  but  he  drew  her  back  with  a  sudden 
decision  that  surprised  her.  It  surprised  him,  too,  to 
find  that  his  natural  solicitude  for  her  amounted  to 
sheer  fright. 

"  Monsieur,"  she  said.  "  I  am  not  afraid  of  my  own 
lion." 

There  was  something  besides  mutiny  in  her  blue 
eyes  as  she  started  forward  again,  only  to  be  firmly  de 
tained  by  Bourke's  sun-browned  hand. 

"  I  cannot  let  you  do  that,"  he  said  ;  "  call  her  from 
here." 

"  Monsieur  Bourke  !  " 

"  Don't  go,"  he  said,  beseechingly. 

Is  it  possible  that  Yolette  enjoyed  his  consternation  ? 

There  was  a  little  thrill  in  her  breast  and  a  quiver  in 
her  clear  voice  as  she  repeated :  "  Monsieur  Bourke, 
you  will  certainly  not  detain  me !  " 

"  Yes,  I  will,"  he  replied ;  "  I  am  not  going  to  see 
you  clawed  by  a  frightened  lioness,  and  you  must  stay 
here." 

The  flash  of  revolt  died  in  her  eyes  ;  there  was  con 
tentment  in  her  heart  and  acquiescence,  too — and 


152  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

something  more  that  made  the  smile  on  her  lips  so  ex 
quisite  that  Bourke's  hand  fell  from  her  arm,  and 
again  the  impulse  seized  him  to  go  away  somewhere 
with  moderate  haste. 

"  Scheherazade  !  Scheherazade  ! "  she  called,  holding 
out  her  arms  in  the  sunlight. 

There  was  no  response. 

"  Scheherazade  !     Scheherazade  !  " 

The  tangled  thicket  of  rose  and  briar  bushes  moved 
slightly. 

"  She's  in  there,"  said  Bourke.  He  walked  out  among 
the  trees,  calling  to  the  lioness.  Presently  he  saw  her, 
crouching  close  to  the  parched  earth,  under  an  acacia 
bush.  But  that  was  not  all ;  on  the  ground  beside  her 
knelt  Hilde,  both  arms  around  the  lion's  neck. 

When  Hilde  saw  Bourke  she  hid  her  face  in  Sche 
herazade's  tawny  shoulder. 

"Why,  Hilde!"  he  said;  "  what  on  earth  are  you 
hiding  out  here  for?" 

"Hilde!"  cried  Yolette,  coming  up,  "be  careful, 
my  darling !  Scheherazade  growled  at  me  this  morn- 
ing." 

Hilde  stood  up  and  answered,  looking  down  at  the 
lion  ;  "  I  am  not  afraid."  She  drew  the  lioness  to  her 
feet  beside  her  without  glancing  at  Yolette  or  Bourke, 
saying,  "  I  shall  take  her  to  my  room.  If  you  go  in 
she  won't  be  afraid." 

Slowly  she  drew  the  lioness  toward  the  house,  never 
looking  up  at  her  sister  or  at  Bourke  until  they 
reached  the  door.  There  she  met  Bourke's  puzzled 
gaze,  turned,  smiled  at  her  sister,  and  passed  into  the 
house  leading  the  cowering  lioness. 

The  day  passed  quickly  for  Bourke.     He  prowled 


THE   SOUL  OF   YOLETTE.  153 

around  the  ramparts  by  the  Point  du  Jour  until 
luncheon,  scribbling  notes  and  bits  of  half-caught  gos 
sip  from  the  swarms  of  officers  who  were  watching  the 
Prussians  with  a  fascination  approaching  hypnotism. 
There  was  not  much  to  see — a  column  of  smoke  here 
and  there,  nothing  more,  except  a  rare  Uhlan,  a  tiny 
speck  on  some  distant  height.  The  forts  of  the  north 
and  east  were  silent,  the  forts  of  the  south  were 
steadily  cannonading  the  distant  woods,  blue  and 
hazy  under  the  veiled  sunshine.  Now  and  then  a 
great  gun  bellowed  from  the  Viaduct,  clouding  the 
bastions  with  billowy  mist,  beneath  which  the  Seine 
frothed  and  sparkled  in  the  wake  of  some  river  gun 
boat,  ploughing  its  way  under  white  arches  of  masonry. 
On  every  height,  on  every  tower  and  dome  and 
terrace,  people  clustered  to  look  off  at  the  hills  where 
the  Prussians  lay.  The  Buttes  Chaumont,  the  hill  of 
Montmartre,  the  Trocadero,  the  Viaduct,  were  black 
with  people.  Ladies  in  carriages  surrounded  the  Arc- 
de-Triomphe,  gay  colours  dotted  the  crowd  on  top  of 
the  Arc.  It  was  so  amusing — really  a  delightful 
sensation  to  watch  the  shells'  tall  curve,  to  see  the 
cloudy  explosion,  shot  with  lightning,  to  watch  the 
shredded  vapours  float  away,  white  as  fleecy  wool.  It 
was  a  new  sensation  and  a  thrilling  one  to  know  that 
those  shells  were  aimed  at  men  hiding  among  the 
blue  woods  and  hills.  And  so  the  carnages  flashed 
past  through  the  trees,  bright  with  colour,  glittering 
with  painted  wheels,  silver  chains  ringing  changing 
rhythms  to  the  tinkle  of  steel-shod  hoofs ;  and  the 
gay  sunshades  and  bonnets  and  scarfs  brightened  the 
autumn  greys  and  greens  of  the  Bois  de  Boulogne 
until  the  brilliant  city  seemed  to  be  en  fete,  and  the 


154  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

soft  thunder  of  the  guns  was  but  a  feu-de-joie  announc 
ing  the  triumphs  of  peace  and  of  the  brotherhood  of 
man. 

Bourke  lunched  on  the  ramparts,  surveying  the 
scene  with  cool,  optimistic  eyes. 

"The  Prussians  will  never  get  in,"  he  mused,  as  he 
munched  his  bread  ;  "  there  will  be  an  assault  or  two 
and  then  a  sortie,  and  nobody  can  see  the  end  of  the 
war  yet." 

In  the  early  afternoon  he  sent  his  despatches  by 
way  of  Bordeaux,  for  the  northern  and  western  wires 
were  not  working,  and  about  three  o'clock  he  strolled 
homeward,  wondering  where  Harewood  had  spent  the 
day.  There  was  nobody  in  evidence,  excepting  Red 
Riding  Hood,  when  he  entered  the  house. 

"I  think,"  she  said,  "that  Mademoiselle  Hilde  has 
gone  to  market  with  Mademoiselle  Yolette." 

"And  Monsieur  Harewood?" 

"  He  is  lying  down  in  his  room." 

Bourke  looked  pleasantly  at  the  child  ;  he  wished 
to  say  something  kind  and  cheerful,  but  he  did  not 
know  how.  He  realised  this  and  it  embarrassed  him. 
It  was  always  so  with  children — his  awkwardness 
stifled  his  affection. 

"You  are  washing — er — dishes,"  he  inquired. 

"  I  am,"  replied  Red  Riding  Hood  serenely. 

The  fact  was  as  obvious  as  Bourke's  confusion. 

Red  Riding  Hood's  serious  eyes  opened  a  little. 

"  Here,"  said  Bourke,  desperately,  "  are  some  bon 
bons,"  and  he  solemnly  presented  the  child  with  a 
package  tied  up  in  red  ribbon. 

Red  Riding  Hood  thanked  him  gravely,  untied  the 
parcel,  retied  the  scarlet  bit  of  ribbon  in  her  tangled 


THE   SOUL   OF   YOLETTE.  155 

black  locks,  and  came  up  to  him  holding  out  the 
sweetmeats. 

"  Take  one,"  she  said. 

Bourke  obediently  took  a  chocolate  drop  and  placed 
it  in  his  mouth.  Red  Riding  Hood  did  likewise. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  "  I  will  return  to  my  dishes. 
Good-by." 

"  Good-by,"  he  said,  understanding  that  the  audience 
was  at  an  end. 

Up  stairs  he  found  Harewood  lying  on  the  bed. 

"  Hello,  Jim  ;  out  of  sorts  ?  "  he  asked  amiably. 

"  No,"  said  Harewood,  without  looking  up. 

Bourke  sat  down  on  the  bed. 

"  Sent  your  despatches  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  sent  mine,  too.  Well,  the  Prussians  are  here  at 
last.  What  a  devil  of  a  row  the  forts  of  the  south 
make  when  the  wind  is  right !  Where  were  you  this 
afternoon?  " 

"  Outside  the  city." 

"  Go  far  ?  " 

"  Bas-Meudon." 

"See  anything?" 

"No." 

After  a  pause  Bourke  said,  "  Don't  you  care  to  talk, 
Jim?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Harewood,  sitting  up  suddenly,  "  let's 
talk,  for  God's  sake — let's  do  something " 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  asked  Bourke, 
sharply. 

Harewood's  face  changed ;  he  smiled  at  his  comrade 
and  touched  him  affectionately  on  the  arm. 

"  Nothing — case  of  blue  devils — they're  gone. 
You're  a  good  chap,  Cecil." 


156  ASHES  OF  EMPIRE. 

"Am  I?"  replied  Bourke,  gratified.  "I  haven't 
had  a  chance  to  see  you — to  talk  things  over  to-day — 
you  went  away  rather  abruptly." 

After  a  moment's  thought  he  added  :  "  What's  the 
matter  anyway,  Jim?  Have  you  had  a  misunder 
standing  with  Hilde?" 

"No,"  replied  Harewood,  forcing  a  smile. 

"  O,  I  wasn't  sure.  Hild£  seems  to  have  the  blues, 
too.  What  have  you  been  doing  all  day?" 

"  When  I  came  back  from  Bas-Meudon,"  said  Hare- 
wood,  crossing  one  leg  over  the  other  and  clasping 
both  hands  above  the  knee,  "  I  borrowed  a  crowbar 
from  a  soldier  and  pried  up  all  the  flag-stones  in  the 
courtyard.  You  know  the  Governor  issued  orders  for 
all  sorts  of  precautions.  At  noon  to-day  a  soldier 
came  to  see  whether  we  had  obeyed  Trochu's  orders. 
Guess  who  it  was?" 

"  Not  Speyer!  "  exclaimed  Bourke. 

"  Yes,  it  was  Speyer." 

They  looked  at  each  other  significantly.  Bourke 
began  to  pace  the  floor. 

"  I  foresee  what's  coming,"  he  said,  bitterly.  "  Buck- 
hurst  and  Speyer  are  going  to  nag  us  and  irritate  us 
until  we  do  something  for  which  they  can  denounce 
us.  Buckhurst  fears  us  because  we  know  his  record. 
Speyer  wants  to  get  into  this  house  because  it's  the 
ideal  headquarters  for  a  spy.  They  are  both  working 
for  the  same  end." 

"I  think,"  said  Harewood,  tightening  his  clasp 
about  his  knee,  "  that  Speyer  is  the  centre  of  the 
whole  spy  system  in  Paris.  Shall  I  tell  you  why  ? 
Listen,  Cecil.  When  he  came  to  find  out  whether  we 
had  unpaved  the  court — and  incidentally  to  discover 


THE   SOUL   OF   YOLETTE.  157 

whatever  he  could  to  our  detriment — I,  luckily,  had 
just  finished  prying  up  the  flag-stones  and  piling  them 
against  the  wall.  He  was  in  uniform — the  uniform  of 
a  Belleville  staff  captain.  He  spoke  to  me  and  looked 
me  in  the  eye  as  though  he  had  never  before  seen  me. 
And  all  the  time  I  was  eyeing  the  mark  my  riding- 
crop  left  across  his  face.  He  came  into  the  house — I 
dared  not  strike  him  ;  his  uniform,  you  know — and 
that  would  have  been  fatal — fatal  to  us  all.  It  was 
not  until  he  went  that  he  said  anything  important ; 
but,  as  he  left  by  the  same  steps  down  which  I  had 
kicked  him  a  few  nights  ago,  he  stopped  and  said : 
'Take  my  advice  and  get  out  of  this  house  before 
you're  thrown  out.'  " 

Bourke's  face  crimsoned ;  he  stood  stock  still  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor. 

"  I  replied,"  continued  Harewood,  "  that  in  the 
event  of  a  frost  in  hell  I  would  leave,  and  not  before. 
I  also  pointed  out  that,  uniform  or  no  uniform,  I'd 
twist  his  head  off  his  shoulders  if  he  ever  came  back." 

Harewood  had  risen  while  speaking,  and  now  he 
also  began  to  pace  the  floor. 

"You  see,  Cecil,"  he  continued,  "  that  I've  com 
mitted  us  all.  But  I  mean  it.  We  can't  stay  here 
with  these  Belleville  ruffians  free  to  enter  the  house 
when  the  whim  strikes  them — free  to  billet  their  fellow- 
cutthroats  here — perhaps  Speyer,  perhaps  Buckhurst 
himself.  And  I  tell  you  if  any  man,  soldier  or  civilian, 
offers  a  word — a  look — at  Hilde — I'll  fling  him  through 
the  window !  " 

Harewood,  nervous  and  flushed,  sat  down  on  the 
bed  again. 

"  I  fear  it's  coming,"  he  said,     "  I  fear  we  shall  all 


158  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

be  obliged  to  leave.  They  have  the  whip  hand  :  if 
they  denounce  Hilde  and  Yolette  for  aiding  the  Em 
press — if  they  denounce  them  on  a  more  dreadful 
charge — who  is  to  help  them  ?  Not  you — not  I.  Tro- 
chu  will  listen  to  his  soldier-police — not  to  us.  Think 
of  the  horrible  shock  to  those  young  girls — think  of 
their  helplessness !  Suppose  Speyer  should  swear  to 
the  lies  he  threatens  them  with  ?  He  is  a  staff  cap 
tain  ;  he  once  lodged  here  ;  he  has  a  lying  witness  in 
Stauffer.  Would  it  help  matters  if  I  should  shoot 
Speyer  down  in  the  street,  in  the  house — on  the  wit 
ness-stand  itself?  This  thing  is  like  a  nightmare  to 
me,  Cecil." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  burst  out  Bourke,  "  that 
they  would  not  listen  to  you — that  they  would  not  be 
lieve  you — you  who  can  swear  that  Hilde  is  the 
sweetest,  purest  woman  on  earth — the  woman — Jim — 
the  woman  you  love?" 

Harewood's  lips  whitened  ;  he  tried  to  answer ;  his 
cheeks  were  smitten  with  a  deadly  pallour. 

"  The  woman — the  woman  I  love?  "  he  repeated. 

"Do  you  not  love  her?"  demanded  Bourke,  vio 
lently. 

Still  Harewood's  white  face  was  turned  to  his  in 
silence. 

"  Answer  me,"  said  Bourke,  stepping  nearer. 

As  he  spoke,  a  vision  of  Yolette  flashed  before  him. 
He  saw  her  blue  eyes  fixed  on  his  own,  he  saw  her 
hair,  the  troubled  curve  of  her  lips,  the  quiet,  pure 
brow.  And  suddenly  he  understood  that  it  was 
Yolette — it  was  for  Yolette  that  he  spoke — and  it  was 
for  himself,  too — for  he  loved  her.  The  sudden  illu 
mination,  his  own  heart  laid  bare  before  him,  the  sur- 


THE   SOUL   OF   YOLETTE.  159 

prise,  the  emotion,  the  flashlight  revelation  of  a  secret 
unsuspected,  the  undreamt  of  secret  of  his  own  heart 
— staggered  him. 

Harewood,  gazing  blankly  at  him,  saw  nothing  but 
a  parting  of  his  comrade's  lips,  a  dilation  of  his  eyes,  a 
brusque  movement  of  chest  and  head. 

After  a  moment  Bourke  said  :  "  I  thought  you  loved 
Hilde.  I  only  asked  because  I  hoped  you  did."  His 
voice  was  wonderfully  gentle.  He  spoke  slowly,  as 
though,  between  his  own  words,  he  was  listening  to 
another  voice — the  voice  that  whispers,  whispers  al 
ways,  in  the  ears  of  those  who  love. 

He  went  on,  slowly:  "  You  and  she  are  so  much  to 
gether  it  might  not  be  the  safest  and  best  thing  for 
her  if  you  took  it  lightly — not  that  I  think  you  dis 
honourable,  Jim — you  won't  believe  that !  But  some 
times  I  have  thought — I  think  a  great  deal  about  you, 
Jim — I  sometimes  fancy  that  Hilde  cares  for  you  a 
great  deal.  It  might  be  less  cruel  for  both — both  you 
and  Hilde — if  we  went  away — unless — unless — 

He  stopped  abruptly,  his  face  touched  with  a  tender 
light,  the  voice  again  sounding  softly  in  his  ears. 

"  What  ?  "  motioned  Harewood,  with  dry  lips. 

Bourke  smiled  at  him  and  touched  his  forehead  with 
his  hand,  dreamily. 

"  What  was  I  saying  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Nothing,"  said  Harewood,  vacantly. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

AN   OPEN   DOOR. 

THE  sun,  imbedded  in  terraced  banks  of  clouds, 
glimmered  like  a  cinder  over  Meudon  woods,  the  bat 
tery  smoke,  drifting  across  the  southern  forts,  turned 
to  pink  and  pearl.  Soft  thunder  muttered  among  the 
westward  redoubts ;  silvery  electric  stars  pricked  the 
haze  that  veiled  Valerien ;  the  river  slipped  past, 
misty,  meadowed  shores  untroubled  by  a  keel. 

The  house  on  the  ramparts  was  very  still  ;  Bourke 
sat  in  his  room  by  the  window,  reading :  Harewood 
stood  at  his  window  looking  out  over  the  valley.  Be 
low  him  the  Prophet  tilted  skyward,  loomed,  omi 
nous,  swathed  in  its  canvas  winding  sheet.  A  sentinel 
stood  motionless  on  the  parapet,  head  turned  toward 
the  hazy  hills,  where  a  thin  column  of  smoke  mounted 
straight  up  into  the  still  sky.  Once  a  little  whirlwind 
of  bugle  music  from  the  Porte  Rouge  filled  the  street ; 
once  the  wind  veered  and  the  heavy  detonation  of  the 
cannonade  set  the  sultry  air  a-quiver  for  a  while. 

The  expectancy  of  evening  brooded  over  all,  over 
the  massive  ramparts,  over  the  fresh  grassy  thickets 
on  the  glacis,  in  an  imperceptible  wind  that  freshened 
and  cooled  the  face,  yet  scarcely  stirred  a  leaf. 

Presently  there  came  a  clatter  of  small  sabots  on  the 
stairs  outside,  the  discreet  patter  of  stockinged  feet, 
a  knock,  a  happy  whisper.  It  was  Red  Riding  Hood, 


AN  OPEN  DOOR.  l6l 

come   for  her   evening   visit.     Harewood   kissed   her 
listlessly. 

"  You  bring  twilight  with  you,  little  one,"  he  said, 
turning  back  her  thick  black  curls.  "  The  scarlet  rib 
bon — it  is  very  becoming — do  you  know  it  ?  " 

"  Monsieur  Bourke  gave  it,"  said  the  child,  nestling 
closer  to  him.  "  Come,  let  us  sit  down,  will  you  ?  " 

Harewood  absently  drew  a  chair  to  the  window  ; 
Red  Riding  Hood  leaned  against  his  shoulder.  They 
looked  out  over  the  valley  in  silence. 

"  I  might  have  been  perfect,"  said  Red  Riding 
Hood,  presently,  "  but  Mademoiselle  Hild£  could  not 
give  me  my  lesson  to-day." 

Harewood  answered  without  turning,  "  Why?" 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  the  child,  with  a  little  sigh. 
Harewood  bit  his  lips  ;  his  heart  turned  sick  with  the 
futile  bitterness  that  follows — too  late — the  knowledge 
of  consequences — consequences  that  spread  like  ripples 
from  a  pebble  in  a  troubled  pool. 

"  Mademoiselle  Hild£  will  hear  your  lesson  to-mor 
row,"  he  said,  looking  from  the  window. 

"  To-morrow,"  repeated  the  child. 

He  said  nothing  more.  Perhaps  he  was  thinking 
of  those  endless  to-morrows,  passing,  passing,  each 
one  troubled  as  the  spreading  rings  in  a  pool  disturb 
the  placid  peace  that  once  reigned  there.  And  he 
had  cast  the  stone. 

"  Look  at  me,"  said  the  child. 

He  turned  his  head  ;  her  dark  eyes  met  his  own. 

"  Is  it  sadness?  "  she  asked. 

"Yes,  little  one." 

She  held  his  hand  a  moment,  then  let  it  drop.  He 
scarcely  noticed  it ;  a  moment  afterward  he  heard  the 


l62  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

click,  click,  of  her  little  sabots  down  the  stairs  out 
side.  An  hour  later,  a  bitter  hour,  he  followed, 
descending  the  worn  stairs  silently,  fearing  the  very 
silence  that  he  dared  not  break. 

Yolette  moved  about  the  dining-room  singing  to 
herself  in  an  undertone.  He  passed  into  the  hallway 
and  out  to  the  bird  store,  where  Hilde  knelt  among  the 
wicker  cages. 

When  she  saw  him  she  rose  to  her  knees,  hiding  her 
burning  face  in  her  hands.  He  bent  close  to  her  and 
touched  the  flushed  cheeks  between  the  hands.  One 
by  one  he  untwisted  the  slender  fingers,  closely  inter 
locked,  and  at  last  he  raised  her  head  to  his.  But  she 
would  not  look  at  him,  her  sealed  lids  pressed  the 
lashes  tightly  to  her  cheek. 

"  Why  have  you  hidden  away  all  day?  "  he  said. 

Presently  she  answered  :     "  Can  you  ask?" 

He  raised  her  from  her  knees ;  her  eyes  were  still 
closed,  but  her  white  hands  stole  around  his  neck. 
When  at  last  he  released  her  and  the  quiet  tears  had 
dried  in  her  eyes,  without  falling,  she  went  to  the  open 
door  and  stood  there,  looking  out  into  the  west. 
Earth  came  back  to  her  slowly  through  the  heaven 
of  their  kiss — sounds  grew  through  the  music  of  his 
voice  ;  she  heard  the  cannonade's  dull  triple  throb, 
she  saw  green  tree  tops  stirring  in  the  sun. 

He  came  and  stood  beside  her.  Love's  lassitude 
hung  heavy  on  her  limbs  ;  he  took  her  unresisting  hand 
— that  little  hand,  so  small,  so  smooth,  fragrant  and 
fraught  with  mystery,  a  cool  white  blossom  with  five 
slim  petals  tipped  with  pink. 

The  beauty  of  life  was  upon  her,  the  loveliness  of 


AN   OPEN   DOOR.  163 

the  world  was  in  her  eyes — the  world  so  kind  to  her — 
so  kind  to  all — to  all ! 

In  the  red  west  a  flaming  belt  of  haze  girdled  the 
horizon  ;  in  the  north  plumed  clouds  suspended  from 
the  zenith  hung  motionless ;  the  glass  of  the  stream 
mirrored  a  single  tree. 

When  their  silence  grew  too  heavy,  too  sweet  for 
such  young  hearts,  they  broke  it ;  and  it  broke  music 
ally,  with  the  melody  of  half-caught  questions — a 
sigh,  a  little  laugh  re-echoed  pure  as  the  tinkle  of 
two  crystal  glasses,  touched  discreetly.  The  softest 
drumming  of  the  guns  stirred  the  pulsating  air  like 
the  distant  drumming  of  a  partridge  ;  the  gemmed 
azure,  veiled  with  haze,  swam  and  shimmered  with 
its  million  brilliant  atmospheric  atoms — tiny  points 
of  fierce  white  dusting  the  blue  like  diamond 
dust. 

When  the  sun  was  very  low  and  the  level  meadows 
ran  moulten  gilt  in  every  harrow,  the  sparrows,  gathered 
for  the  night  on  tree  and  roof,  filled  the  street  with 
restless  chirping  that  stirred  the  caged  birds  in  the 
shop.  Linnet  answered  thrush,  finches  whistled  wist 
ful  answers  to  the  free  twittering  of  the  sparrows  ;  a 
little  lark  rustled  and  ruffled  ;  a  blackbird  uttered  a 
still,  thin  plaint. 

And  Hilde,  who,  when  her  own  heart  was  free,  had 
never  understood  captivity,  now,  when  she  listened, 
understood,  and  her  own  imprisoned  heart  answered 
the  plaint  of  wild  caged  things. 

To  her  half-spoken  thought  he  answered  ;  together 
they  gathered  all  the  feathered  wild  things  into  one 
great  wicker  cage.  The  parrot's  pale  eye  was  veiled 
in  scorn  ;  the  monkey  flouted  freedom  with  a  grimace, 


164  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

shivering  and  mouthing  as  the  hundred  wings  beat  at 
the  wicker  bars. 

Harewood  took  the  cage ;  Hilde"  walked  beside 
him,  in  ecstacy  at  the  thought  of  freedom  given  by 
those  who  know  that  something  else  is  sweeter. 
There  was  a  shrub  in  flower  on  the  glacis — some  late- 
blooming  bush,  starred  with  waxen  blossoms,  breath 
ing  perfume.  Under  this  they  placed  the  cage. 

When  Hilde  opened  the  cage  a  feathered  whirlwind 
circled  about  her  head  :  there  came  a  rush  of  wings,  a 
thrilling  whir-r !  and  she  clasped  her  hands  and  stepped 
forward.  Out  over  the  valley  the  bird  flock  rushed, 
bore  to  the  left,  circled,  rose,  swung  back  on  a  return 
ing  curve,  but  always  rising  higher,  higher,  until  far 
up  in  the  deepening  evening  sky  they  floated,  and  chose 
their  course,  due  south. 

She  watched  them  driving  southward  ;  she  could 
tell  the  finches  by  their  undulating  flight,  the  thrushes, 
the  clean-winged  starlings.  She  sighed  contentedly  ; 
she  had  opened  the  door  of  pity  when  love  opened 
the  door  to  her  heart. 

"  Look  !  "  whispered  Harewood  ;  "  there  is  one  little 
bird  that  will  not  leave  us." 

"  It  is  dead— God  forgive  me,"  faltered  Hilde\  A 
rush  of  tears  blinded  her;  she  knelt  beside  it  on  the 
grass — a  frail  mound  of  fluff  and  feathers,  silent  and 
still. 

"  Freedom  and  death — life  is  so  sweet — so  sweet," 
she  whispered.  "  And  somewhere  in  the  south  where 
the  others  have  gone,  there  is  summer,  eternal  summer 
—life— life." 

"  Winter  is  close,"    he  answered  sombrely.      With 


AN   OPEN  DOOR.  165 

an  unconscious    movement    he  drew  her  to  him  ;    he 
bent  and  searched  her  changed  face. 

The  wind,  too,  had  changed  ;  there  was  frost  some 
where  in  the  world,  and  the  solemn  harmony  of  the 
cannon  swelled  with  the  swelling  breeze,  and  the 
breeze  stirred  a  broken  feather  on  the  dead  bird's  stif 
fening  wing. 


CHAPTER     XV. 

THE   ANATOMY   OF   HAPPINESS. 

THAT  night  they  closed  the  empty  bird  store ;  Hare- 
wood  lifted  the  wooden  shutters  into  place  and  locked 
them  ;  Hilde"  carried  the  monkey  into  the  dining-room 
and  installed  it  in  a  warm  corner.  Mehemet  Ali,  the 
parrot,  viewed  these  proceedings  with  contempt.  It 
mattered  little  to  him  where  he  passed  his  pessimistic 
days  ;  weariness  and  a  vicious  melancholy  had  marked 
him  for  their  own ;  even  when  he  ate,  he  ate  as  if  he 
were  making  an  ironical  concession  to  the  weakness  of 
some  one  else.  Curiosity  he  had  subdued,  sinister 
solitude  he  courted — and  bit  when  it  was  denied  him. 
There  had  been  a  time  in  earlier  days  when  he 
whistled  the  "  Marseillaise" — when  he  croaked  "  Vive 
I'Empereur!"  Now  for  a  year  he  had  been  mute, 
brooding  in  silence  among  the  noisy  feathered  inhabi 
tants  of  the  bird  store,  dreaming,  perhaps  scheming — 
for  he  had  the  sly,  slow  eye  of  the  Oriental. 

He  bit  Harewood  when  that  young  man  was  bearing 
him  to  the  dining-room,  and,  when  dropped,  diplo 
matically  sidled  under  a  sofa.  From  this  retreat  he 
made  daily  excursions,  mounting  all  the  furniture  by 
aid  of  beak  and  claw,  sullenly  menacing  those  who 
approached. 

Scheherazade  had  not  recovered  from  her  fright. 
The  characteristics  of  the  big  house-cat  had  almost 


THE   ANATOMY   OF   HAPPINESS.  1 67 

disappeared  ;  she  cowered  when  approached,  she  slunk 
when  she  moved  ;  there  was  a  blankness  in  her  eyes  ;  a 
stealth,  almost  a  menace,  in  the  slow  turning  of  her 
head.  Already  in  these  early  days  of  the  siege  milk 
was  becoming  too  expensive  to  buy  for  a  lioness  ;  meat 
also  had  increased  so  swiftly  in  price  that  Yolette  was 
frightened,  and  haunted  the  market  wistfully,  scarcely 
daring  to  buy.  Vegetables,  bread  and  wine,  however, 
were  plenty  ;  so  were  proclamations  from  the  Governor 
of  Paris  assuring  everybody  that  the  city  had  ample 
provisions  for  months  to  come.  Most  people  thought 
that  the  increase  in  the  price  of  meat  was  only  tempo 
rary  — a  mere  flurry  caused  by  the  consummation  of  an 
event  that  was  not  yet  entirely  credited — the  actual 
advent  of  the  Prussian  army  before  Paris. 

The  arrival  of  the  Germans  was  like  a  theatrical  en 
trance  :  the  audience  was  all  Paris,  the  orchestra,  a 
thousand  cannon.  They  tuned  up  by  batteries,  west, 
south,  and  finally  north,  as  the  vast  circle  of  steel 
closed  closer,  closer,  and  finally  welded  with  the  snap 
of  a  trap.  Then,  when  the  city  and  outer  ring  of 
forts  were  in  turn  themselves  encircled  by  a  living  iron 
ring,  when  the  full-throated  thunder  from  the  battery 
of  the  Double  Crown  was  echoed  from  Saint  Denis  to 
Mont-Valerien,  from  Saint  Cloud  to  Charenton,  and 
again  from  the  southeast  northward  to  Saint  Denis, 
Paris  began  to  understand. 

The  first  futile  curiosity,  the  foolish  terror  and  fear 
of  instant  bombardment,  died  out  as  the  weeks  passed 
and  the  crack  of  the  Prussian  rifled  cannon  had  not 
yet  awakened  the  hill  echoes  of  Viroflay.  The  silly 
proclamations  urging  the  instant  tearing  up  of  pave 
ments,  the  fortifying  of  cellars,  the  assuring  of  a  water 


168  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

supply,  were  forgotten.  People  began  to  realise  that 
it  takes  months  to  establish  siege  batteries — that  for 
every  gun  capable  of  throwing  a  shell  into  Paris,  the 
Germans  would  have  to  send  to  Germany.  Fear  van 
ished  ;  how  long  it  would  take  to  convey  heavy  cannon 
from  Berlin  across  France  to  the  Seine  ?  And  would 
not  the  convoys  be  cut  off  by  the  Franc-tireurs,  by  the 
provincial  armies  now  organising,  by  an  uprising  of 
outraged  people?  Surely  the  very  land,  the  elements 
themselves,  would  rise  and  destroy  these  barbarians 
and  their  wicked  cannon.  Trochu,  the  sombre  mystic, 
the  Breton  Governor  of  republican  Paris,  moved  on  his 
darkened  way,  a  flash  of  tinselled  pomp,  a  shred  of  pa 
geantry,  the  last  paladin  riding  back  into  the  gloom  of 
the  middle  ages,  seeking  light,  fleeing  light,  wrrapped 
to  the  eyes  in  the  splendid  mantle  of  the  Trinity. 

So  he  rode,  esquired  by  Faith,  dreaming  of  saints 
and  quests  of  chivalry,  pondering  miracles.  As  a 
figure  for  a  Gobelin  tapestry,  General  Trochu  would 
have  been  useful ;  in  no  other  capacity,  save  perhaps  in 
a  cloister,  would  he  have  been  of  use  in  the  nineteenth 
century. 

When,  on  the  seventeenth  of  September,  the  Prussian 
advance  guard  was  signalled  and  saluted  by  the  forts  of 
the  west  and  south,  General  Vinoy's  brave  corps  passed 
the  gates  and  advanced  to  Cretail.  The  affair  was  not 
serious — nothing  was  serious  then.  And  yet  that  was 
the  very  time  when  a  crushing  success  might  have 
electrified  the  whole  nation  into  such  resistance  that 
the  end  of  the  war  would  not  have  arrived  with  the 
capitulation  of  the  capital.  Was  it  not  possible  to 
rapidly  mass  the  two  corps  of  Vinoy  and  Ducrot  to 
crush  the  few  thousand  men  of  the  advance  guard  ? 


THE   ANATOMY   OF   HAPPINESS.  169 

The  moral  effect  of  such  a  stroke  would  have  been 
stupendous. 

But  in  this  first  engagement  under  the  walls  of 
Paris,  the  deplorable  system  was  inaugurated,  and  in 
variably  followed  in  all  subsequent  operations  around 
Paris :  fighting  without  a  fixed  objective,  forcing  new 
troops  not  sufficiently  habituated  to  fighting,  and,  on 
the  contrary,  when  a  serious  object  was  in  view,  oper 
ating  with  insufficient  numbers  and  inadaquate  ar 
tillery. 

On  the  eighteenth  of  September,  when  Vinoy's  corps 
fell  back,  the  Prussian  investment  began  ;  the  various 
railroads  were  cut,  and  at  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon 
the  last  train  from  Paris  for  Rouen  left  the  Saint  Laz- 
are  station.  From  every  direction  the  German  masses 
poured  into  the  country ;  the  Prince  of  Saxony  ad 
vanced  from  the  north,  saluting  Saint  Denis  with  a 
thousand  trumpets,  the  Prince  of  Prussia  rode  up  from 
the  south  through  Fontenay  aux  Roses  and  woke  Au- 
nay  woods  with  the  hurrahs  of  his  horsemen. 

Two  vast  crescents  formed  the  circle ;  the  ring  was 
soldered  at  Versailles  in  the  east ;  the  other  gap  closed 
at  Saint  Germain. 

Then,  on  the  nineteenth  of  September,  Ducrot  was  at 
tacked  in  the  south,  flanked,  driven  pellmell  under  the 
Chatillon  redoubt,  where  the  great  forts  of  Vanves  and 
Montrouge  shielded  him.  At  four  o'clock  the  few  can- 
noniers  spiked  the  last  guns  in  the  unfinished  Cha 
tillon  redoubt  and  retired ;  Clamart,  Villejuif  and 
Meudon  swarmed  with  Prussian  cavalry.  Night  came, 
and  Paris  knew  that  its  southern  key  had  been  stolen 
when  the  Prussian  flag  crept  up  the  shattered  staff  on 
the  ramparts  of  Chatillon. 


I/O  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE, 

So  was  lost  the  southern  key  to  Paris,  the  great  un 
finished  redoubt  of  Chatillon.  Let  those  high  officers 
of  engineers  remember — let  others  in  high  places  of 
the  land  remember — and  be  remembered. 

Scarcely  had  the  investment  of  Paris  been  completed 
when  the  humiliating  interview  at  Ferrieres  between 
Jules  Favre  and  Bismarck  became  known  to  the  public. 
Had  Jules  Favre  carefully  considered  the  matter,  had 
he  offered  terms,  for  example,  as  follows : 

First — An  indemnity. 

Second — The  dismantling  of  one  or  two  of  the  east 
ern  forts. 

Third — The  cession  of  Cochin  China. 

Fourth — The  cession  of  a  few  ironclads. 

Doubtless  Germany — coerced  by  Europe — would 
have  accepted. 

But  it  was  not  to  be.  The  poor  representative  of 
the  republic  left  the  Prussian  headquarters  with  Bis 
marck's  harsh  voice  ringing  in  his  ears,  and  the  next 
day  all  Paris  knew  that  it  was  to  be  a  struggle  to  the 
death. 

Stung  again  into  action,  Vinoy,  supported  by  the 
forts,\hurled  a  division  of  the  I3th  corps  on  Villejuif  and 
carried  it.  On  September  30  Chevilly  and  Choisy-le- 
Roi  were  attacked.  Again  the  fatal  lack  of  sufficient 
artillery  nullified  the  advantage  gained  at  Villejuif; 
the  sphere  of  action  had  scarcely  been  enlarged  at  all. 

From  the  ramparts  of  Paris  these  first  engagements 
under  the  walls  were  scarcely  visible  to  the  people 
• — scarcely  audible,  save  for  the  thunder  from  the 
supporting  forts.  A  high  rampart  of  yellow  mist 
stretched  from  the  Montrouge  fort  to  Arcueil ;  beyond 
it,  denser  volumes  of  smoke  poured  up  into  the  sky 


THE  ANATOMY   OF  HAPPINESS.  I/I 

from  1'Hay.  At  moments  the  wind  brought  the 
crackle  of  the  fusillade  through  lulls  in  the  cannon 
din — scarcely  louder  than  the  crackle  of  a  bonfire. 
This  was  all  that  the  Parisians  could  see  or  hear  from 
the  southern  bastions.  Great  crowds  of  women  and 
children  watched  the  infantry  passing  through  the 
Porte  Rouge  ;  the  cavalry  sang  as  they  rode  between 
dense  masses  of  excited  people ;  the  cannoniers  swung 
their  thongs  and  chanted  gaily  : 

Gai !  Gai !  serrons  nos  rangs, 
Esperance 
De  la  France 

Gai !  Gai !  serrons  nos  rangs, 

En  avant,  Gaulois  et  Francs ! 

to  the  air  of  "  Gai !  Gai !  Marions  nous  !  "  and  the 
Franc-tireurs  took  up  the  song  savagely : 

Quoi !  ces  monuments  che"ris, 

Histoire 

De  notre  gloire, 
S'ecrouleraient  en  debris, 
Quoi !  les  Prussiens  a  Paris ! 

and  the  people  roared  back  the  chorus  : 
Gai !  Gai  !  serrons  nos  rangs ! 

Hilde",  standing  at  the  door,  heard  them  singing  at 
sunrise,  caught  the  distant  glint  of  bayonets,  saw  the 
sun,  white  and  fierce,  crinkling  the  polished  surface  of 
helmet  and  breastplate. 

At  night,  too,  lingering  on  the  steps,  she  heard  the 
movement  and  murmur  of  marching  masses ;  she  saw 
the  rockets  drifting  through  the  sky,  the  jewelled 
string  of  signal  lamps  swinging  like  a  necklace  from 
the  Porte  Rouge  battlements.  All  day  long  the  rue 
d'Ypres  rang  with  a  clang  of  bugles  and  the  vibrating 


172  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

crash  of  drums  ;  all  day  long  the  cannoniers  of  the 
Prophet  drilled  and  manoeuvred  and  played  at  firing, 
but  the  night  came  and  found  the  Prophet's  lips  still 
sealed  and  the  long  bronze  fetish  motionless,  reaching 
toward  heaven  in  its  awful  attitude  of  prayer. 

Since  those  early  practice  shots  that  had  shattered 
the  window  glass,  the  Prophet  had  not  spoken  ;  yet, 
all  day  long,  its  gigantic  mass,  thrust  out  over  the 
ramparts,  swung  east  and  west  at  the  monotonous  com 
mands,  sweeping  the  points  of  the  compass  with  the 
smooth  movement  of  a  weather  vane  turning  in  a  June 
breeze. 

Harewood,  locking  the  dusty  wooden  shutters  for 
the  last  time,  turned  to  watch  the  Prophet  as  it  swept 
to  the  west,  stopped,  sank  at  the  breech  as  a  horse 
sinks  on  his  haunches.  For  the  hundredth  time  he 
thought  they  were  going  to  fire,  but  the  gun  captain 
took  up  his  mechanical  call:  "Elevation  at  1,500,  at 
2,000,  at  2,500,"  and  the  pointeur  mounted  the  bastion 
and  called  the  class  of  instruction  to  the  breech. 

In  the  evening  glow  the  ramparts  burned  red,  the 
dust  in  the  street  gleamed  like  powdered  rubies  ;  long, 
mousey  shadows  stretched  across  the  grass,  soft  and 
velvety  as  the  bloom  on  a  purple  plum. 

When  Harewood  had  finally  locked  the  shutters,  he 
climbed  up  and  unhooked  the  sign  of  the  shop. 
Hilde  watched  him  without  speaking;  he  lifted  the 
signboard  to  his  shoulder  and  carried  it  into  the  dark 
ened  shop.  To  Hilde  it  was  the  last  scene  in  the  pro 
logue  of  a  drama — the  drama  of  a  new  life,  just  begin 
ning.  She  went  into  the  shop  and  looked  at  the  sign, 
that  was  standing  upside  down  against  the  wall. 

"  It  is  one  of  my  landmarks,"  she  said  ;  "they  are 


THE  ANATOMY   OF   HAPPINESS. 

all  going  now,  one  by  one.  Yesterday  my  Sainte 
Hilde  of  Carhaix  fell  and  broke  on  the  tiled  floor, 
and  I  shall  miss  the  birds,  too."  She  added  hastily : 
"  I  am  glad  that  they  flew  away ;  you  must  not  think 
I  regret  anything." 

Harewood,  standing  close  beside  her,  said :  "  You 
regret  nothing,  Hilde?" 

After  a  long  while  she  answered,  "  Nothing — and 
you  ?" 

"What  have  I  to  regret?"  he  said,  in  an  altered 
voice,  unconscious  of  the  axiom  and  its  irony — un 
conscious  that  he  stood  there,  the  mouthpiece  of  his 
sex,  voicing  the  dogmas  of  an  imbecile  civilisation. 
She  bent  her  head ;  her  white  face  rested  on  his 
shoulder.  All  the  million  questions  that  stir  and 
flutter  in  a  love-wrung  heart  awakened,  trembled  on 
her  lip's, — all  that  she  would  know,  all  that  she  should 
know,  all  that  she  feared.  Yet,  of  the  million  ques 
tions,  she  could  not  utter  one,  least  of  all  the  eternal 
question,  more  surely  asked  and  answered  in  silence. 
With  her  love  came  terror,  too,  lasting  the  space  of  a 
heartbeat,  dying  out  with  a  quick  sigh,  a  flutter  of 
silken  lashes,  a  parting  of  scarlet  lips  divinely  wistful. 

As  for  the  man  beside  her,  he  stood  thrilled  yet 
thoughtful,  following  his  thoughts  through  the  dim 
labyrinths  of  his  heart  that  beat  deeply,  heavily, 
against  her  yielding  breast.  What  had  happened  he 
scarcely  comprehended ;  he  only  knew  that  love  is 
sweet.  The  beginning  was  already  so  long  ago,  so 
dim,  so  far  away.  When  had  it  been  ?  Had  they  not 
always  loved  ?  And,  if  the  beginning  of  love  was 
already  half  forgotten,  the  end  loomed  vaguer  still, 
the  distant  future  promised  nothing  yet,  a  veil  of 


1/4  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

mist,  rose-tinged,  exquisite,  although  behind  the  veil 
something  was  already  stirring,  a  shape — nothing — be 
cause  he  refused  to  see.  Yet  it  was  there  ;  Hilde 
felt  its  presence,  unconsciously  shrinking,  in  her 
lover's  arms,  and  again  the  questions  stung  her  lips. 
"Is  it  love — love  for  me?  Is  it  truly  love?  Is  it 
forever  ?  Is  it  truth  and  faith  and  constancy,  forever 
and  forever  ? "  Her  breathless  lips  parted,  but  no 
question  passed  them ;  and  they  were  sealed  again  in 
silence. 

Hilde  and  Harewood  moved  once  more  to  the  door. 
Night  stretched  its  star-lined  tent  from  the  zenith,  the 
moon,  enmeshed  in  a  fathomless  film,  hung  in  a  cor 
ner,  a  tarnished  rim  of  tinsel,  pale  as  a  silvery 
withered  leaf.  As  they  stood  there,  Bourke  came 
through  the  hall  with  Yolette,  bidding  them  hurry,  for 
dinner  was  over.  Then  they  went  away,  close  together, 
and  their  voices  were  lost  on  the  dim  glacis  where 
the  scented  shrubbery  spread  its  perfume  through  the 
shadows. 

Hilde  glided  silently  to  her  chamber;  Harewood 
waited  for  her,  standing  by  the  table  where  Bourke's 
and  Yolette's  plates  had  already  been  removed.  Red 
Riding  Hood  came  to  the  kitchen  door  with  a  shy 
"  good  evening,"  and,  when  Hilde  returned  and 
seated  herself,  the  child  brought  dinner  and  served  it 
with  the  adoration  that  serves  a  shrine.  Twice  Hilde 
kissed  her,  for  she  needed  the  love  of  all,  now  that  she 
had  given  a  love,  infinite  and  innocent,  a  love  that 
embraced  the  world  and  life  and  death. 

"  Red  Riding  Hood's  father  has  gone  with  the 
thirteenth  battalion,"  she  said,  looking  across  at  Hare- 
wood.  "  I  begin  to  think  our  little  one  will  always  be 


THE  ANATOMY   OF   HAPPINESS.  1/5 

with  us."  The  child  listened  with  downcast  eyes. 
Harewood  smiled  at  her  and  drew  her  to  him. 

"  When  did  he  go?  "  he  asked. 

"  To-day,"  replied  Red  Riding  Hood.  "  He  is  a 
brave  soldier." 

As  the  child  spoke  her  dark  eyes  glowed  ;  for  at 
last  he  had  been  justified  in  his  daughter's  eyes — this 
squalid,  drunken  father,  glorious  in  the  shining  gar 
ments  of  resurrection — a  home-made  uniform  with 
epaulettes.  War,  the  great  purifier,  had  come  with 
blessings  to  Red  Riding  Hood ;  and  the  child  of 
chance,  whom  chance  allotted  to  her  father,  sewed 
gilded  braid  and  brave  buttons  on  her  father's  clothes 
that  he  might  be  fine  among  the  fine ;  that  he  might 
no  longer  be  ashamed  among  men  ;  that  she  no 
longer  need  be  silent  when  men  spoke  of  honour  and 
virtue  and  brave  deeds  and  the  soldiers  of  France. 

"  He  will  fight  until  he  dies,"  said  the  child  seriously. 

"  Pray  God  he  may  not  die,"  said  Hilde  gently. 

"  He  will  die,"  replied  Red  Riding  Hood,  with  that 
quiet  conviction  that  makes  children  sometimes  feared. 

Late  that  night,  Harewood,  sleeping  on  his  tumbled 
bed,  was  awakened  by  Bourke. 

"  Jim,  there's  a  man  at  the  door  below  ;  Red  Rid 
ing  Hood's  father  is  dead." 

"  Dead  ?  "  repeated  Harewood. 

"He  was  drunk — he  fell  from  the  drawbridge  at  the 
Porte  Rouge." 

Harewood  threw  on  his  bath-robe  and  went  gravely 
to  the  dim  room  where  Red  Riding  Hood  lay  asleep. 
"  Little  one,"  he  whispered.  She  felt  for  his  hand  in 
the  darkness,  clasped  it  in  both  of  hers  and  pressed  her 
wet  face  to  the  pillow. 


176  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

"  It  was  a  brave  death — a  soldier's  death,"  he  whis 
pered.  She  wept ;  it  was  the  one  pleasure  her  father 
had  ever  given  her, — his  death.  She  thought  of  the 
man  himself,  and  wondered  why  she  wept.  Hare- 
wood,  too,  wondered,  and  she  answered  his  unasked 
question. 

"  I  weep  because  I  have  so  little  to  weep  for.  Go, 
now,  and  leave  me  with  my  happiness." 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

BETROTHED. 

IN  Paris  the  days  succeeded  each  other  with  few 
incidents  and  moderate  excitement.  Suspense  had 
given  place  to  certainty ;  the  city  was  completely 
hemmed  in  by  an  unseen  enemy,  unseen  save  for  the 
smoke  of  burning  villages  on  the  horizon,  yet  that 
enemy  had  as  yet  done  nothing  ;  Notre  Dame  and  the 
Tuileries  were  still  standing,  cabs,  cars,  omnibuses  ran 
as  usual,  and  the  boulevards  and  cafes  were  thronged. 

True,  there  had  been  a  few  alarms  in  the  interior  of 
the  city  ;  a  petroleum  storehouse  caught  fire  on  Mont- 
martre  through  accident,  a  chemical  factory  blew  up 
in  the  rue  de  Vaugirard  and  killed  some  people. 
Everybody  was  certain  that  these  fires  were  of  incen 
diary  origin,  but  probably  nobody  knew  the  truth — 
unless  Speyer  and  Stauffer  knew  it.  There  was  practi 
cally  no  news  from  the  provinces;  now  and  then  a 
daring  messenger  managed  to  elude  the  Prussian  pic- 
quets  and  creep  into  the  city,  but,  except  for  that, 
Paris  was  absolutely  isolated  from  the  rest  of  France 
as  far  as  receiving  news  was  concerned.  But  the  Pari 
sians  could  send  news  by  pigeons  and  balloons  ;  they 
sent  something  else,  too — a  balloon  loaded  with  200 
pounds  of  Monsieur  Gambetta,  destined  to  fill  the 
Midi  with  his  fanfare  and  gasconading,  destined  to  flop 
in  the  Prussian  drag  net  and  blind  himself  and  his  fellow 


ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

victims  with  the  turmoil  of  his  own  flopping,  destined 
incidentally  to  aid  in  the  disgrace  and  destruction  of  a 
brave  incapable,  more  sinned  against  than  sinning, 
the  innocent  fat-brained  scapegoat  of  a  frenzied  na 
tion — Bazaine.  If  there  ever  existed  such  a  thing  as  a 
patriotic  demagogue,  partly  genius,  partly  mountebank, 
Gambetta  must  remain  the  unique  example,  and  yet 
the  court-martial  of  Bazaine  has  left  the  stain  that  tar 
nishes  the  name  of  Gambetta  and  makes  it  stink  a  little, 
too. 

The  courage  and  splendid  fortitude  that  brightened 
the  gloom  of  the  year  of  punishment,  the  terrible 
chastisement  of  a  guilty  nation,  was  displayed  by  the 
army  and  the  people.  The  leaders,  the  politicians,  the 
men  in  high  places,  the  government  must  look  else 
where  for  eulogy.  Thiers,  agitated  by  senile  convul 
sions,  Gambetta,  bawling  nonsense,  Rochefort,  brilliant 
and  useless  as  a  will-o'-the-wisp — and  quite  as  easy  to 
catch ;  Favre,  self  effacing,  patriotic,  unequal  to  his 
task ;  Trochu,  sombre,  fervidly  good,  living  amid  hal 
lucinations,  a  monument  of  martyred  indecision — 
will  some  historian  or  writer  of  fiction — they  are 
synonyms — be  pleased  to  gild  the  letters  of  these  great 
names  ?  And  while  the  romancer,  or  historian — which 
ever  you  will — is  about  it,  let  him  regild  the  name  of 
R£nan,  as  he  sits  feeding  himself  at  Tortoni's  in  the 
starving  city,  splitting  platitudes  with  De  Goncourt. 
See  him  as  he  eats  !  His  chin  is  fat,  his  belly  fatter, 
his  fat  white  fingers  are  spread  out  on  either  knee,  the 
nails  offensively  untrimmed.  He  preaches  universal 
brotherhood  ;  he  is  on  good  terms  with  humanity. 
Incidentally  he  talks  much,  and  familiarly,  about  our 
Saviour — and,  eats,  eats,  eats. 


BETROTHED. 

In  the  beginning  of  his  career,  Gambetta  created  for 
himself  a  name.  It  took  only  a  few  weeks  to  create 
it.  He  followed  Rochefort's  methods  with  equal  suc 
cess.  He  was  very  popular  in  France.  He  was  a 
talented  lawyer.  Again  and  again  in  the  corps  legisla- 
tif  he  showed  himself  to  be  not  only  an  orator,  but  a 
statesman,  of  a  certain  kind.  In  the  beginning  of  the 
revolution  he  was  useful ;  he  was  the  hyphen  that  con 
nected  the  parti  avance  and  the  bourgeoisie.  He  was 
opposed  to  Trochu.  He  sailed  away  in  his  balloon  to 
Tours,  where  he  felt  that  his  sphere  of  action  ended 
only  with  the  frontier.  He  was  mistaken.  His  col 
leagues  proved  useless.  He  set  up  a  dictatorship  that 
ended  by  sterilizing  and  making  ridiculous  his  former 
energy. 

"  Did  this  young  tribune  of  the  people  remember 
that  the  greatest  glory  God  can  accord  to  man  is  the 
glory  incomparable  of  saving  his  country  ?  Had  he  a 
soul  sublime  enough  for  such  a  mission?  And  the 
purity  of  his  intentions,  the  simplicity  of  his  life,  the 
elevation  of  his  character — were  they  so  notorious 
that  he  should  be  deemed  worthy  of  such  an  honour?  " 

Let  France  answer  her  own. 
*  -x-  *  *  *  *  * 

The  third  sortie  ended  in  the  fire-swept  streets  of 
Bagneux,  and,  for  the  third  time  since  the  siege  began, 
the  army  of  Paris  retired  to  the  city,  having  accom 
plished  nothing  except  a  few  thousand  deaths,  highly 
commended  by  "  Ollivier  Militaire."  Bourke,  hurry 
ing  back  to  the  city,  had  attempted  to  telegraph  this 
news  by  way  of  Bordeaux.  Then,  when  he  had  spent 
the  remainder  of  the  day  in  similar  and  equally  vain 
attempts,  he  gave  it  up  and  went  back  to  the  house  on 


180  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

the  ramparts,  where  he  found  Harewood,  pockets 
stuffed  with  unsent  despatches,  pacing  the  hallway 
and  smoking  furiously. 

"  It's  just  as  I  told  you,"  he  said,  when  he  saw 
Bourke  ;  "  we're  cooped  up  for  good.  If  you  had  lis 
tened  to  me  and  gone  on  to  Versailles " 

"  O,  shut  up,"  said  Bourke,  pleasantly,  "  you  are  no 
worse  off  than  I  am." 

Harewood,  a  little  ashamed  of  his  selfish  petulance, 
sat  down  on  the  stairs  and  looked  over  his  despatches. 

"  We  can't  run  the  lines,"  he  said  ;  "  we  can't  send 
these  by  pigeons,  even  if  we  had  the  pigeons ;  we 
might  send  them  in  the  next  balloon." 

"  I've  tried,"  said  Bourke  ;  "  it's  no  go."  He  flung 
his  own  despatches  into  a  corner  and  lit  a  cigarette. 

"  As  war-news  purveyors,"  he  observed,  "you  and  I 
are  useless,  my  son,  until  a  sortie  is  made  and  the  Ger 
man  lines  pierced.  Then  we  must  be  there  ;  we  must 
go  out  with  the  next  sortie,  and  if  our  troops  get 
through  we  must  go,  too." 

"  How  about  getting  back?  "  asked  Harewood. 

"  Chance  it." 

Harewood  was  silent. 

"You're  naturally  considering  Hilde"  and  Yolette," 
began  Bourke. 

"  Naturally,"  replied  the  other,  with  a  tinge  of 
irony. 

"  So  am  I.  Now,  Jim,  we  are  either  war  correspond 
ents  or  we  are  not.  We  can  do  nothing  here,  that's 
certain.  If  we  take  risks  and  try  to  get  through  the 
lines,  we  stand  every  chance  of  early  and  uncomforta 
ble  decease.  But  it's  what  we're  paid  for.  If  we  fol 
low  the  next  sortie,  we  may  get  through  with  whole 


BETROTHED.  l8l 

skins.  That's  more  to  my  taste  and  fairer  to  our  jour 
nals.  If  we  stay  here,  it  is  true  we  can  chronicle  the 
siege  and  watch  for  a  hole  in  the  German  lines,  but  I 
think  we  ought  to  resign  from  our  journals  in  that 
case  and  risk  selling  our  stuff  outside  if  we  can't  get 
it  through  beforehand.  That's  the  only  honourable 
course  I  see — either  get  out  of  the  city,  or  stay,  resign 
and  turn  free  lance.  What  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  I  won't  leave — for  the  present,"  said  Harewood, 
reddening. 

"Good,"  replied  Bourke,  promptly.  "  Neither  will 
I  while  these  young  girls  are  here  alone.  Of  course,  I 
knew  you'd  say  that.  Our  papers  will  have  to  wait 
until  we  can  get  a  chance  to  send  in  our  resignations 
and  reasons.  That  can't  be  helped  ;  it  was  a  practical 
mistake  for  us  not  to  go  out  of  the  city  when  we  had 
the  opportunity.  It's  tough  on  our  journals,  but  I've 
decided  not  to  accept  last  month's  salary,  and  that  will 
square  things.  I'll  not  draw  another  cent,  either. 
Have  you  money,  Jim  ?" 

"  I've  a  little  money,"  said  Harewood.  He  took 
out  a  note-book  and  pencil  and  calculated.  Presently 
he  looked  up. 

"  We  shall  need  our  salaries  before  the  month  is 
out,"  he  observed. 

"Then,"  said  Bourke,  "  one  of  us  must  do  the  work 
for  both  ;  one  of  us  must  go  out  with  the  next  sortie 
and  get  through,  if  possible." 

"And — the  other?"  asked  Harewood,  slowly. 

"  The  other  ought  to  stay  here — as  long  as  there  is 
danger.  Jim,  do  you  want  to  stay  ?  "  He  forced  a 
smile  as  he  spoke.  Harewood  said  nothing.  Bourke's 
embarrassment  was  increasing ;  he  reddened  and  stood 
up. 


1 82  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

"  Do  you  care  for  Hilde?  "  he  asked,  with  an  effort. 
Harewood  did  not  answer.  Bourke  unbuckled  the 
spurs  from  his  riding  boots  and  walked  backward 
and  forward,  swinging  the  leathers  till  the  rowels 
jingled  like  tiny  chimes.  After  a  moment  he  came  up 
to  Harewood,  who  was  sitting  moodily  on  the  stairs. 

"  I  should  like  to  stay,  Jim — if  you  don't  mind — 
very  much." 

Harewood  did  not  move. 

"  It  is — for — for  Yolette,"  added  Bourke,  crimson  to 
the  temples;  "but  if  I  thought  you  loved  Hilde,  I 
would  go.  If  you  wish  it  I  will  go  to-morrow." 

Harewood's  face  was  set  and  pale,  his  heart  sank 
under  an  overwhelming  rush  of  shame ;  shame  for 
himself,  shame  because  he  could  not  answer  the  con 
fidence  of  his  comrade,  bitter  shame  that  he  should  be 
willing  to  accept  a  generous  man's  sacrifice,  a  man 
who  loved  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  and  who  loved 
honourably.  Bourke  continued  almost  timidly :  "  I 
never  imagined  that  Yolette  was  anything  to  me  ;  I 
never  thought  of  that  sort  of  thing.  It  came  before 
I  knew  it,  Jim.  You  see,  I  never  before  cared  for  a 
women."  Harewood's  strained  glance  met  his  ques- 
tioningly,  and  Bourke  answered :  "  I  have  not  spoken 
to  her;  I  don't  believe  she  would  listen  to  me;  I 
scarcely  dare  think  of  it ;  you  see,  Jim,  I'm  not  attrac 
tive." 

He  broke  off  abruptly ;  there  was  a  swish  of  a  skirt 
on  the  landing  above;  the  sound  of  a  door,  gently 
closing. 

"  They  don't  understand  English,"  motioned  Hare- 
wood  ;  "  go  on." 

"Yes,  they  do — Hild£  does,"  muttered  Bourke. 


BETROTHED.  183 

"  Hilde  understands  English  ?  "  repeated  Harewood 
in  dull  surprise.  He  had  not  even  suspected  it ;  sud 
denly  he  realised  that  he  had  learned  nothing  of 
Hilde — absolutely  nothing,  except  that  she  loved  him. 

Bourke  slipped  his  riding  crop  into  his  boot,  picked 
up  his  despatches  and  moved  toward  the  stairway. 

"  It  was  Red  Riding  Hood  ;  I  think  I  saw  her  skirt," 
he  said.  "  Jim,  shall  I  go  with  the  next  sortie  ?  " 

Harewood  turned  and  mounted  the  stairway  with 
his  comrade. 

"  Come  into  my  room  in  an  hour  ;  I'll  tell  you  then," 
he  said,  and  left  Bourke  at  the  head  of  the  stairs. 

When  Harewood  entered  his  room  he  went  straight 
to  the  mirror.  A  mirrored  face  looked  back  at  his  own 
— a  face,  young,  firm,  a  little  pale,  with  tightened 
muscles  under  the  cheekbones — and  lips  compressed. 
Like  painted  pictures,  scenes  began  to  pass,  swiftly 
and  more  swiftly,  gliding  before  his  eyes  ;  and  behind 
each  scene  he  saw  the  shape  of  his  own  face,  he  saw 
his  reflected  eyes,  immovable  in  accusation.  And  once, 
stung  to  torture  by  his  eyes'  fixed  condemnation,  he 
raised  a  menacing  hand  and  pointed  at  the  pointing 
figure  in  the  mirror.  "  Coward  !"  But  the  mirrored 
shape  was  voiceless. 

Then  he  went  to  the  bed  and  sat  down ;  and,  an 
hour  later,  when  Bourke  knocked,  he  opened  the  door 
and  took  his  comrade's  hands  affectionately  in  his,  say 
ing  that  he  would  go  with  the  troops,  saying  that  he  was 
glad  and  proud  that  Bourke  had  chosen  Yolette  for 
the  woman  he  would  marry,  wishing  him  luck  and 
happiness.  He  spoke  lightly  of  the  sortie,  expressing 
his  satisfaction  at  a  chance  for  action  and  a  certainty 
that  all  would  go  well.  He  spoke  of  an  easy  return  to 


1 84  ASHES   OF  EMPIRE. 

Paris,  once  the  German  lines  were  ruptured  and  a  free 
passage  established  ;  he  prophesied  his  own  early 
return,  smiling  carelessly  when  Bourke  stammered  his 
thanks  and  wishes  and  fears.  They  sat  together  con 
sulting  maps,  sketching  routes  and  probable  lines  of 
investment,  until  the  late  sunlight  sent  its  level  crim 
son  shafts  far  down  the  carpetless  hallway,  and  the 

shadows  reddened  in  every  corner Before 

Bourke  left  he  spoke  again  of  danger,  but  Harewood 
smiled  and  folded  up  his  maps  gaily. 

"  You  had  better  look  to  yourself,"  he  said.  "Did 
you  notice  the  crowds  around  the  bakeries  and  butcher 
shops  to-day  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Bourke.  "  Yolette  says  that  prices 
are  going  up,  and  many  people  are  buying  supplies  for 
months  ahead.  I  think  I'll  lay  in  a  store  of  tinned  stuff, 
vegetables  and  meats,  you  know.  If  there  should  be 
a  famine  things  might  go  badly  with  us." 

"And  if  Speyer  troubles  you,  what  will  you  do?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Bourke  ;  "  if  it  would  be  safer 
for  Yolette  and  Hild6,  I  suppose  we  would  be  obliged 
to  move.  But  it  won't  come  to  that,  Jim  ;  they  can't 
turn  us  out,  and  as  for  their  blackguardly  threats 
about  Yolette  and  Hilde,  it's  too  late  now  to  carry 
them  out.  The  Prussians  are  here,  and  nobody  can 
leave  the  city,  willingly  or  unwillingly." 

Harewood  lingered  restlessly  at  the  door,  as  though 
he  wished  to  say  something  more  ;  Bourke  understood, 
and  nodded  gravely. 

"  I  needn't  say,  Jim,  that  I'll  do  all  I  can." 

"All  I  can  "  meant,  for  Bourke,  devotion  while  life 
lasted.  Harewood  knew  this. 

"  Nothing  could  happen  in  the  few  days  I'll  be 
away,  and  if  I  can't  get  back  as  soon  as  I  expect — " 


BETROTHED.  185 

"  I  will  do  what  I  can,"  repeated  Bourke. 

After  a  silence  they  shook  hands  ;  Harewood  re 
turned  to  his  room,  closed  the  door,  locked  it,  and 
flung  himself  face  downward  on  the  bed.  But  he 
could  not  even  close  his  eyes,  and  when  Red  Riding 
Hood  knocked  he  sprang  up  and  unlocked  his  door 
with  the  relief  of  a  half-stifled  man.  They  exchanged 
their  kiss  solemnly  ;  he  sat  down  again  on  the  bedside 
and  took  the  child  in  his  arms.  For  an  hour  he  told 
her  stories,  wonderful  tales  of  the  east  and  west, 
legends  of  north  and  south,  chronicles  of  saints  and 
martyrs  and  those  well  loved  of  God.  And  the  bur 
den  of  every  tale  was  honour. 

Twilight  spun  its  grey  web  over  all,  sounds  grew 
softer,  the  child  slept  in  his  arms.  He  laid  her  among 
his  pillows  lightly,  then  went  his  way  down  the  dim 
stairs,  flight  after  flight,  until  he  came  to  the  closed 
door.  Again  it  opened  for  him,  as  it  had  opened  once 
before,  noiselessly,  and  he  entered.  On  the  niche  in 
the  wall  Sainte  Hilde  of  Carhaix  stood,  leaning  at  an 
angle  ;  for,  when  she  had  fallen,  feet  and  pedestal  had 
been  shattered  on  the  tiles.  Under  her  hung  a  rosary. 
He  looked  around  slowly ;  behind  the  curtain  by  the 
dim  window  something  moved. 

"  Hilde,"  he  said  aloud.  He  scarcely  knew  the 
voice  for  his  own.  But  she  knew  it ;  what  else  should 
she  hear — hear  all  day,  all  night,  but  his  voice — 
always  his  voice.  She  came  to  him  through  the 
twilight  and  laid  both  hands  in  his. 

"  You  are  going  away  ?"  she  said. 

She  had  not  heard  him  say  so,  there  in  the  hall ; 
she  knew  it  as  women  know  such  things. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  am  going  away." 


1 86  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

"  To-morrow  ?  " 
"  Yes." 

She  waited  for  him  to  speak  again.  She  waited  in 
a  terror  that  dried  lip  and  eye.  Her  knees  trembled  ; 
a  chill  crept  to  her  breast.  She  waited  for  a  word — a 
single  word  that  meant  salvation ;  she  shrank  before 
silence,  for  silence  was  her  sentence — a  sentence  with 
out  hope,  without  appeal. 

After  a  long-  while  her  hands  fell  from  his;  she 
moved  backward  a  step  ;  her  head  brushed  the  hang 
ing  rosary  and  set  the  brass  cross  swinging  like  a 
pendulum,  timing  the  sands  of  life.  The  sands  of  her 
life  were  running  quickly  now — too  quickly. 

"  You  heard  ?  "  he  asked  ;  "  it  was  you — on  the  stairs 
there?" 

"  Yes." 

"  That  Bourke  loves  Yolette  ?  " 

"Yes." 

She  reached  out  in  the  darkness,  needing  support. 
The  white  wall  seemed  to  waver  and  recede  under  her 
hand. 

"And  Yolette,"  whispered  Harewood,  with  tight 
lips. 

There  was  a  crash,  a  tinkle  of  porcelain  on  the  tiles. 
Sainte  Hilde  of  Carhaix  had  fallen  again  at  his  feet. 
There  was  something  else  breaking,  too — close  beside 
him — a  woman's  heart  in  the  twilight. 

"  And  Yolette,"  he  repeated. 

She  said  :     "  Do  you  love  Yolette  ?  " 

His  hot  head  swam  ;  he  groped  for  a  chair  and 
leaned  on  it,  heavily.  Then  he  sat  down,  his  clenched 
hands  over  his  eyes,  knowing  nothing,  hearing  nothing, 
not  the  quiet  sob  in  the  darkness,  not  the  faltering 


BETROTHED.  l8/ 

footsteps,  not  the  rustle  of  her  knees  on  the  tiles  be 
side  him.  Two  hands  drew  his  hands  from  his  eyes, 
a  silken  head  rested  on  his  knees. 

"  Whatever  is  for  your  happiness,"  she  gasped, 
"  but — be  honourable  ;  it  is  my  sister."  And  again 
she  whispered  :  "  Your  happiness — that  is  all  my 
love  for  you  has  meant." 

He  looked  up,  slowly,  trying  to  understand  the 
question  that  at  last  had  been  answered  for  him.  It 
was  so  simple,  so  clear  now ;  had  he  ever  doubted  it  ; 
doubted  that  he  loved  ?  And  where  was  fear  now — 
where  was  self-distrust — despair  ?  They  had  vanished 
utterly,  if  they  had  ever  existed.  As  yet  the  awaken 
ing  to  understanding  had  not  touched  him  with  the 
subtler  passion  that  should  endure  while  life  endured ; 
he  was  so  sure,  so  quietly  happy.  Then,  when  his 
hand  fell  lightly  on  her  head,  and  when  her  face  was 
raised  to  his,  and  when  she  saw  at  last  in  his  eyes  that 
his  body  and  soul  were  hers — ah,  then  she  knew  the 
mystery  and  meaning  of  eternity,  which  is  shorter 
than  the  shortest  atom  of  a  second,  and  longer  than 
the  sleep  of  death. 

There  was  a  spot  of  moonlight  in  the  room  ;  her 
face  was  paler.  His  lips  touched  the  exquisite  con 
tour  of  cheek  and  brow ;  he  scarcely  dared  to  touch 
her  mouth,  the  mouth  that  had  been  his  for  the  ask 
ing,  for  his  pleasure,  for  an  idle  smile.  The  divine 
curve  of  the  parted  lips,  the  shadowed  lashes  on  the 
cheek,  troubled  him. 

Her  eyes  unclosed;  she  looked  at  him  listlessly, 
crushed  to  his  breast.  Stunned  by  her  own  great  hap 
piness,  she  listened  to  the  words,  so  long  awaited,  so 
long  despaired,  the  words  that  told  her  his  love  was  to 


1 88  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

be  forever  and  forever,  this  love  she  had  lived  for. 
She  scarcely  comprehended,  she  seemed  awake  yet 
swooning.  Her  head  had  fallen  back  a  little,  lips 
parted,  eyes  never  moving  from  his  own. 

"  Forever  and  forever,  together,  always  together,  to 
love,  to  hold,  to  cherish,  to  honour " 

Ah,  Hild£ — "  to  honour" — that  is  what  he  is  saying ; 
can  you  not  hear  ? 

Her  eyes  enthralled  him  ;  her  closing  lids  hid  their 
heavenly  sweetness.  He  kissed  her  mouth. 

"  Life  of  my  life,  heart  of  my  heart,  breath  of  my 
breath,  forever  and  forever,  to  love,  to  hold,  to  cher 
ish,  to  honour." 

Her  eyes  unclosed. 

"  All  that  was  yours  at  our  first  kiss,"  she  said. 
#  •*  #  •*  »•'  » 

They  were  standing  by  the  window,  where  the 
moonlight  barred  her  body  and  transfigured  a  face  so 
pure,  so  exquisite,  that  the  hot  tears  of  repentance 
blinded  him,  and  he  could  not  see  until  she  dried 
them,  grieving  at  his  grief,  whispering  consolation, 
forgiving  with  a  caress,  a  pale  smile,  that  mirrored  the 
adoration  in  his  eyes.  When  two  souls  meet  the 
purer  absorbs  the  other,  and  stains  of  life  are  washed 
away.  Into  her  spirit  had  come  the  strength  and 
knowledge  that  is  needed  to  bear  the  burden  of  a 
lesser  spirit ;  she  it  was  who  was  to  lead,  henceforth, 
and  he  knew  it.  Young,  yet  world-worn,  he  sought 
her  guidance,  he  craved  her  spiritual  purity.  She 
wept  a  little,  standing  very  still,  when  he  told  her 
that  he  must  go  with  the  troops — that  either  he  or  his 
comrade  must  act  as  bread-winner  for  them  both.  He 
made  it  clear  to  her  that  it  would  not  be  honourable 


BETROTHED.  189 

to  accept  money  and  make  no  effort.  He  told  her 
that  he  wished  to  do  this  for  his  comrade,  because  the 
sacrifice  was  necessary.  As  he  spoke  he  longed  to  be 
lieve  that  his  unselfishness  might  make  him  more 
worthy  of  her,  and  she  divined  his  thought,  and 
smiled  through  her  tears,  saying  he  was  all  her  life  and 
hope  and  happiness,  saying  he  was  brave  and  noble 
and  good.  He  said  that  his  comrade  was  all  that.  He 
made  her  promise  not  to  tell  Yolette  until  he  returned, 
because  if  Yolette  and  Bourke  knew  that  they  were 
betrothed  Bourke  would  insist  on  sacrificing  himself. 

"  He  would  not  let  me  go ;  he  is  so  generous. 
Hilde,  my  darling,  I  must  do  this  thing  for  his  sake — 
for  Yolette's  sake." 

"Yes,  I  shall  weep  no  more." 

He  smiled  with  that  perfect  happiness  that  self- 
sacrifice  brings. 

"  Does  Yolette  love  him  ?  " 

"I  don't  know." 

"  And — did  you  think  I  loved  Yolette,  sweetheart  ?  " 

"Yes;  did  you?" 

"  No,"  he  said. 

"  And— now  ?  " 

Their  eyes  met. 

"  And  now,"  she  sighed,  trembling  with  happiness. 

His  arms  encircled  her  slender  body ;  he  whispered 
"  My  Hilde "  then  stopped. 

For  there  came  a  tapping  at  the  open  window. 

He  turned  his  head  slowly;  the  window  opened,  a 
face  looked  in.  It  was  the  Mouse,  haggard,  bloody, 
blinking  at  them  with  his  blind  eye. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A  RECRUIT  FOR  THE  GOVERNMENT. 

WHEN  Hilde  saw  the  Mouse  she  uttered  a  cry  of 
fright.  Harewood  stared  at  the  tattered  creature  with 
disgust.  "  Get  out,"  he  said. 

"  Let  me  come  in,  monsieur,"  whined  the  Mouse ; 
"  they  are  following  me." 

"  Following  you  !  " 

Harewood  stepped  to  the  window. 

"Who?     The  police?" 

"  The  troops,"  muttered  the  Mouse,  under  his 
breath.  "  Hark  !  You  can  hear  them — in  the  rue  Ma 
laise." 

Harewood  listened. 

"  I  hear  them.     Come  in." 

He  opened  the  side  door  of  the  garden,  motioned 
the  Mouse  into  the  empty  bird  store,  and  followed, 
calling  back  to  Hilde  to  bring  a  lamp.  When  Hilde 
entered  a  moment  later,  the  lamp  lit  up  a  ragged  figure, 
lying  flung  across  the  floor.  There  was  blood  on  his 
cropped  head,  on  his  fist  and  wrist. 

Harewood  took  the  lamp  and  knelt  beside  the  inert 
mass.  The  yellow  light  fell  on  one  unclosed  eye, 
ivory  white,  sunken,  sightless. 

"  He's  been  pricked  by  a  bayonet ;  he's  been  running 
hard.  Ask  Bourke  to  come,"  whispered  Harewood. 

He  set  the  lamp  on  the  floor,  and  lifted  the  Mouse's 
arm. 


A  RECRUIT  FOR  THE  GOVERNMENT.      19! 

"  Ugh  !     He's  been  shot,  too,"  he  added. 

"  Poor  thing — poor  thing," — faltered  Hilde,  stand 
ing  with  small  hands  tightly  clasped.  "  Shall  I  bring 
water?" 

"  Yes,  and  call  Bourke." 

A  moment  later  Bourke  entered  carrying  a  pitcher 
of  water  ;  Hilde  and  Yolette  followed  with  some  cloths 
for  bandages,  a  bowl,  and  another  lamp. 

The  Mouse  was  sitting  up,  supported  by  Harewood, 
his  ragged  back  resting  against  the  shop  counter,  his 
legs  thrust  out  on  the  floor.  He  swallowed  all  the 
cognac  Bourke  gave  him  without  comment,  winked 
solemnly  with  his  sound  eye,  gasped  and  looked  up. 
He  recognised  Hilde  and  Yolette  at  once,  and  a  flicker 
of  amused  malice  came  into  his  face,  which  changed, 
however,  so  suddenly  that  Harewood  thought  he  was 
about  to  faint  again. 

"  The  lion,"  gasped  the  Mouse  ;  "  I  don't  want  to 
see  it." 

It  was  difficult  to  quiet  him.  The  horror  of  his  pre 
vious  introduction  to  Scheherazade  had  left  an  im 
pression  never  to  be  obliterated.  However,  he  was  in 
no  condition  for  further  flight,  and  at  last  Hilde's  pity 
and  Harewood's  amusement  reassured  him. 

"They  punched  me  full  of  holes,"  he  explained. 
"  The  soldiers  of  Vinoy  and  the  Garde  Mobile, — for 
what  ?  God  knows,"  he  added,  piously.  "  Have  I 
been  shot,  monsieur?  " 

"Grazed;  it  is  nothing,"  replied  Harewood.  He 
looked  anxiously  at  Hilde;  she  understood  and  drew 
Yolette  toward  the  door. 

"  Are  you  hungry  ?  "  she  asked,  shaking  her  head 
gravely  at  the  Mouse, 


IQ2  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  replied  the  Mouse,  with  an  ap 
proach  to  enthusiasm,  "  I  am  always  hungry." 

Bourke  and  Harewood  washed  the  battered  ruffian's 
wounds ;  they  were  slight,  perhaps  painful ;  but  in  the 
lower  organisms  sensibility  to  pain  is  at  a  minimum. 
It  is  exhaustion  that  tells  most  heavily  upon  creatures 
of  the  Mouse's  species ;  the  finer  tortures,  mental  and 
physical,  need  nerves  for  appreciation,  and  the  Mouse 
had  none.  Bourke  brought  him  a  chair;  Harewood 
set  the  two  lamps  on  the  counter  ;  the  Mouse  was  sup 
plied  with  a  cigar. 

"Now,"  said  Harewood,  "go  on." 

The  Mouse  leaned  back  luxuriously  ;  a  placid  sense 
of  well  being  and  security  filled  his  body  and  soothed 
him  to  the  ends  of  his  toes. 

"Messieurs,"  he  said,  "it  was  Major  Flourens;  I 
was  at  the  Undertakers  ;  we  all  were  there,  peaceably, 
like  gentlemen  at  our  wine — denouncing  the  govern 
ment.  Then  comes  your  American,  Buckhurst,  who 
whispers  to  one — to  another — ma  foi !  what  ?  "  He 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  shifted  the  cigar  in  his 
thin  lips.  "Then,"  he  resumed,  "your  Americans, 
Speyer  and  Stauffer,  begin  to  shout,  '  To  the  Hotel  de 
Ville !  Vive  la  Commune  !'  and  our  Major  Flourens 
calls  for  the  drummers  of  the  carbiniers  to  beat  the 
generate  through  Belleville.  Messieurs,  in  a  moment 
we  were  marching — all  marching  and  singing  the 
1  Marseillaise/  You  understand  that  our  heads  were 
warmed  a  little  ?  Flut !  Je  ne  m'emballe  p'us." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Bourke,  sharply. 

The  Mouse  examined  his  bandaged  arm,  blew  a  dis 
gusted  cloud  of  smoke  from  his  lips,  shrugged  and 
continued ; 


A  RECRUIT  FOR  THE  GOVERNMENT.     193 

"  Your  American,  Buckhurst,  said  it  would  be  easy  ; 
everybody  said  so ;  nothing  to  do  but  march  into  the 
Hotel  de  Ville,  make  a  new  government,  and  become 
rich.  I  went ;  messieurs — it  was  quite  natural,  was  it 
not?  Mince!  They  arrived,  too,  the  fantassins  of 
Vinoy  and  the  Garde  Mobile.  I  ran  ;  it  was  natural." 

"Very,"  said  Harewood,  gravely. 

"  N'est  ce  pas  ?  Done — I  ran.  So  ran  the  car 
biniers  of  Flourens.  Fichtre  !  They — the  others — 
ran  after  us — the  line  and  the  Garde  Mobile,  and — I 
am  here." 

Harewood  laughed  outright ;  Bourke  looked  seri 
ously  at  the  Mouse. 

So  there  had  been  a  revolt  in  Belleville.  Flourens 
and  his  "  legion,"  now  known  as  the  "  carbiniers  " — 
had,  at  the  instigation  of  Buckhurst,  Speyer  and 
Stauffer,  descended  from  Belleville  to  seize  the  Hotel 
de  Ville  and  proclaim  the  Commune.  Why  had 
Buckhurst  done  this?  For  plunder.  Why  had 
Speyer  urged  it  ?  Bismarck's  spies  were  paid  to 
foment  disorder ;  was  this  the  first  sample  ?  Did  the 
pockets  of  the  Undertakers  bulge  with  Prussian  gold  ? 

"Who  beat  the  g£n£rale  in  Belleville?"  demanded 
Bourke,  suddenly. 

"The  drummers  of  the  carbiniers,"  replied  the 
Mouse,  with  a  wink. 

"  By  whose  orders  ?  " 

"  Pardi — the  orders  of  Major  Flourens,  monsieur." 

"  Did  the  carbiniers  march  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  two  thousand  of  the  Belleville  aristo 
cracy,"  said  the  Mouse,  impudently. 

"O,  like  yourself?" 

"  Oui,  monsieur." 


194  ASHES    OF   EMPIRE. 

Bourke  walked  over  to  him,  and,  before  the  Mouse 
could  protest,  he  had  whipped  a  handful  of  coins  out 
of  his  pocket.  Among  them  was  a  gold  piece  bearing 
on  one  side  the  Prussian  double  eagle,  on  the  other 
the  portrait  of  Wilhelm,  Koenig. 

"  Where  did  you  get  that?"  demanded  Bourke. 

The  Mouse  seemed  genuinely  surprised. 

"  Captain  Speyer  gave  it  to  me,"  he  replied,  placidly ; 
"  all  gold  is  good  now.  It  cost  two  like  that  to  start 
me  marching  for  the  Hotel  de  Ville;  it  will  cost 
twenty  in  future,"  he  added. 

Bourke  looked  at  him  intently,  then,  patiently,  he 
began  to  point  out  what  the  presence  of  German  gold 
meant  among  the  people — he  spoke  simply  and  slowly, 
explaining  to  an  undeveloped  intelligence. 

"  It  is  distributed  by  German  spies,"  he  said.  "  Bis 
marck  pays  them  to  weaken  Paris  by  turning  French 
man  against  Frenchman." 

"  What's  that  to  me,"  replied  the  Mouse,  sullenly. 
All  the  hatred  of  the  rich  flamed  up  in  his  single  eye ; 
he  set  his  lips  and  sneered  at  Bourke  : 

"  Frenchman  against  Frenchman.  What  is  that  to 
me?  It  is  what  I  want,  I,  the  Mouse!  " 

Harewood  shot  a  disgusted  glance  at  him,  but 
Bourke,  subtler  in  his  appreciation  of  men,  spoke 
again  patiently. 

"  Very  well,  Frenchman  against  Frenchman,  rich 
against  poor,  if  you  will ;  but  not  now." 

"  It  is  none  too  soon,"  growled  the  Mouse,  with  an 
evil  light  in  his  single  eye. 

"  Then,"  said  Bourke,  "  if  you  are  in  such  haste  for 
money,  go  out  to  the  Prussian  lines.  They  will  pay 
you  well  for  a  package  of  to-day's  newspapers." 


A  RECRUIT  FOR  THE  GOVERNMENT.      195 

"  Dieu  de  Dieu  ! "  shouted  the  Mouse,  red  with 
rage  ;  "  do  you  take  me  for  a  spy  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Bourke,  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

Harewood  rose  and  gravely  took  the  Mouse's  unin 
jured  hand. 

"You're  a  decent  casse-geule,"  he  said  ;  "listen  to 
Monsieur  Bourke." 

An  hour  later  the  vague  intelligence  of  the  Mouse, 
deformed  and  crippled  from  his  birth,  was  enlightened 
enough  for  him  to  see  that  he  had  been  the  very 
thing  that  even  his  distorted  nature  shrank  from — a 
paid  traitor  to  his  own  land. 

Then  fury  seized  him,  and  he  cursed  until  Harewood 
threatened  him  savagely.  He  understood  but  one 
thing — he  had  been  duped  by  some  one — he  had 
been  played,  imposed  upon,  perhaps  mocked.  And 
this  a  criminal  never  forgives.  There  was  no  right 
eousness  in  his  fury — unless  the  blind  instinct  that 
forces  a  man  to  spare  his  own  land  can  be  called  such. 
He  abstained  from  treason  as  he  abstained  from 
cannibalism.  If  he  had  owned  a  square  inch  of  French 
soil  he  would  doubtless  have  fought  for  it  tooth  and 
nail;  but  there  was  no  broader  impulse  to  make  him 
fight  for  the  land  that  others  owned — the  land  owned 
by  emperors  and  princes — and  the  rich.  Yet  even  he 
would  not  sell  it,  though  he  did  not  even  know  why. 

What  stung  him  was  that  somebody  had  tricked 
him  into  doing  something.  This  roused  the  sullen 
rage  that  never  dies  in  men  of  his  type,  a  rage  that 
needs  to  be  glutted  with  vengeance — a  sombre  hate 
that  must  be  hugged  and  cherished  and  brooded  on — 
until  the  red  day  of  reckoning. 

That  day  was  to  dawn — he  scented   it  as  buzzards 


196  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

scent  a  thing  far  off — the  day  when  the  spectre  of  the 
Red  Republic  should  rise  and  stalk  through  Paris, 
while  palaces  sank  in  ashes  and  the  gutters  marked 
high  tide  for  the  crimson  flood. 

But  there  were  others  first  to  reckon  with  ;  those 
others,  whoever  they  were — wherever  they  were — who 
had  duped  and  mocked,  and  bought  and  sold,  and 
tricked  and  flouted  him.  And  yet  he  was  patient  by 
nature — when  vengeance  needed  patience.  He  was 
sly,  and,  when  it  served  his  ends,  cowardly,  like  a  wolf 
in  a  pit.  Bourke's  brutal  solution  of  the  problem 
needed  Harewood's  finer  hand  to  prove  it,  and  he  did, 
moulding  the  Mouse  at  his  will — tempting  him  with 
the  bait  of  satisfied  revenge,  enslaving  him  with  the 
oppressive  conviction  of  a  knowledge  superior  and 
more  materially  powerful  than  his  own.  The  Mouse 
understood  that  he  had  been  used  for  the  pleasure  and 
profit  of  other  men ;  that  he  had  been  tricked  into 
treason.  He  also  understood  that  Harewood  knew 
how  to  help  him  to  revenge,  and  that  made  him  docile. 
He  comprehended  that  a  knife  stuck  into  Speyer's 
back  was  poor  vengeance  compared  to  the  ultimate 
confusion  of  the  whole  spy  system,  the  annihilation  of 
Flourens,  Buckhurst  and  Mortier,  and  the  wholesale 
execution  of  the  Undertakers.  Therefore,  he  was  will 
ing  to  be  guided,  and  Harewood,  without  scruple, 
brought  the  government  a  recruit. 

There  was  another  feature  that  Harewood  had  neg 
lected  to  count  on  ;  the  curious  unconscious  attach 
ment  of  the  Mouse  to  himself.  Was  it  gratitude  for 
aid  when  the  police  ran  him  through  the  passage  de 
rOmbre?  Was  it  an  instinct  that  moves  live  things 
to  continue  to  protect  whatever  they  save  from  de- 


A   RECRUIT  FOR  THE   GOVERNMENT.  197 

struction  ?  Each  had  saved  the  other  in  sorest  need, 
and  now  the  Mouse's  inclination  moved  him  to  move, 
when  and  where  Harewood  moved. 

There  was  a  tub  in  the  bird  store,  and  here  the 
Mouse  was  ordered  to  bathe  in  the  hot  water  that 
Bourke  brought.  Later,  his  wounds  redressed,  the 
Mouse  sat  down  to  be  fed.  He  wore  an  old  suit  of 
Bourke's  clothes ;  his  clean  shirt  made  him  shy  and 
suspicious,  but  a  heavy  dinner  dissipated  suspicions, 
and,  later,  a  mattress  and  blankets  in  the  corner  of  the 
bird  store  aided  the  Mouse  to  sleep  a  sleep  of  reple 
tion,  pleasantly  tinctured  with  dreams  of  carnage. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE   WOMAN   WHO   WAITS. 

THAT  very  night,  unknown  to  Harewood,  a  sortie 
was  attempted  from  the  gates  of  the  south — a  sortie, 
as  usual  inadequately  supported  by  artillery.  About 
midnight  the  cannon  on  the  southern  forts  aroused 
him.  Bourke  came  into  his  room,  and  together  they 
looked  out  into  the  night,  where,  above  the  Issy  fort, 
the  sky  reflected  dull  crimson  flashes  as  gun  after  gun 
boomed  through  the  darkness. 

After  awhile  Bourke  went  back  to  bed.  Harewood, 
too,  slept  soundly,  lulled  by  the  swelling  harmony  of 
the  cannonade.  The  grumble  of  the  guns  ceased  with 
the  night.  In  the  morning  they  knew  the  troops  had 
failed  at  Chatillon ;  they  knew  also  that  the  raid  on 
the  Hotel  de  Ville  had  proved  a  ridiculous  fiasco,  so 
ridiculous  that  the  government  allowed  Flourens  to 
retire  to  his  Belleville  fastness  undisturbed  and  drink 
mournfully  to  the  Commune  with  his  carbiniers.  It 
is  probable  that  the  government  believed  it  had  its 
hands  full  without  inaugurating  civil  strife  in  Belle 
ville  under  the  muzzles  of  the  Prussian  guns.  This 
inertia  or  cowardice  of  the  government  was  the  be 
ginning  of  that  disastrous  temporising,  later  criminally 
indulged  in  by  Thiers,  and  which  cost  Paris  the  Com 
mune. 

So  Major  Flourens  flourished  his  heels  in  security, 


THE   WOMAN   WHO    WAITS.  199 

and  Buckhurst,  emboldened  by  the  government's 
apathy,  refused  admittance  at  the  Undertakers  to  re 
porters  or  government  officers,  while  Speyer  and 
Stauffer  whispered  discontent  and  treason  among  the 
carbiniers. 

The  week  passed  slowly  for  the  Mouse;  he  was 
waiting  for  revenge.  It  passed  more  swiftly  for 
Bourke  ;  he  was  in  love.  As  for  Hilde  and  Harewood, 
the  days  appeared  and  vanished  like  April  rainbows. 
He  was  with  her  in  the  evenings ;  in  the  mornings  he 
haunted  the  war-office,  ears  open  for  any  bit  of  gossip 
that  might  indicate  the  date  of  the  next  sortie. 

The  war-office  remained  in  a  state  of  indescribable 
confusion  ;  everything  lay  at  loose  ends.  There  ap 
peared  to  be  no  system,  no  order.  The  place  was 
thronged  by  irresponsible  young  officers  who  knew 
everything  and  nothing,  and  who  talked,  talked,  talked. 
Surely  it  needed  no  extraordinary  spy  system  on  the 
German  side  to  keep  Monsieur  Bismarck  au  courant 
with  the  daily  life  in  Paris,  with  the  physical  and 
moral  conditions  of  the  French  army.  Every  move 
ment  contemplated  was  discussed  with  unheard-of 
carelessness,  every  secret  project  aired,  every  plan 
shouted  aloud  to  anybody  who  cared  to  listen.  The 
vital  necessity  of  secrecy  in  arranging  for  a  sortie  was 
absolutely  ignored.  Is  it,  then,  any  wonder  that,  hours 
before  a  sortie,  the  Germans  knew  of  it  and  were 
already  massing  in  the  threatened  zone  ? 

Harewood,  always  welcomed  among  men  wherever 
he  went,  found  no  difficulty  in  learning  whatever  he 
wished  to  learn. 

This  knowledge  he  used  ;  he  bought  hundreds  of 
tins  of  meat  and  vegetables,  all  the  flour  he  could  get, 


2OO  ASHES   OF  EMPIRE. 

all  the  biscuits  and  preserves.  He  had  heard  things 
from  high  sources  that  appalled  him,  and  he  looked 
fearfully  at  the  lines  of  people  already  beginning  to 
gather  in  front  of  the  provision  depots. 

Fuel  and  candles  he  bought,  too,  but  he  could  pur 
chase  no  oil,  although  petroleum  was  cheap.  The  oil 
was  used  to  inflate  balloons ;  the  petroleum  could  not 
be  burned  in  lamps. 

Hild£  and  Yolette  were  very  busy  storing  provisions 
in  the  cellar  and  bottling  red  wine,  aided  by  Red  Rid 
ing  Hood  and  the  Mouse. 

The  Mouse,  cleaned  and  chastened  and  warmly 
clothed,  worked  as  he  was  bidden  to  work — not  because 
he  wished  to — but  because  Harewood  told  him  to  do 
so  or  get  out.  To  find  himself  working  was  an  endless 
source  of  painful  amazement  to  the  Mouse. 

"  Malheur — si  $a  fait  pas  pitie  !  "  he  would  exclaim, 
regarding  his  apron  and  sabots  with  unfeigned 
astonishment.  But  he  carried  and  fetched  and 
scrubbed  and  rubbed,  living  half  in  a  daze,  half  in  a 
nightmare.  He  was  not  resentful,  however  ;  he  knew 
his  skin  was  safer  there  than  in  Belleville.  But  the 
degradation  of  manual  toil  crushed  him  to  a  state  of 
gloom  only  lighted  by  three  full  meals  a  day  and 
Harewood's  judiciously  doled  out  cigars.  He  cared 
nothing  for  Yolette  or  Hilde,  he  ignored  Mehemet  Ali, 
he  tolerated  Red  Riding  Hood,  he  loathed  Schehera 
zade  with  a  loathing  that  turned  his  blood  to  water. 
Bourke  he  revered  because  that  young  man  had 
mastered  him  ;  Harewood  he  followed,  when  Hare- 
wood  did  not  drive  him  off  about  his  business. 

All  day  long  the  forts  of  the  south  pounded  away  at 
the  wooded  heights  beyond ;  all  day  long  the  boule- 


THE  WOMAN   WHO   WAITS.  2OI 

vards  in  the  interior  of  the  city  echoed  with  the  rat 
tle  of  drums.  There  were  fewer  cabs  and  omnibuses 
now;  the  government  was  constantly  seizing  horses 
for  artillery  and  train  service.  Horse  meat,  too,  began 
to  appear  in  the  markets,  but  the  government  at  first 
restricted  its  sale  to  certain  designated  shops. 

Toward  the  middle  of  the  week,  the  government 
published  an  order  in  the  official,  rationing  the  inhabi 
tants  of  Paris,  and  assuming  control  of  every  butcher 
shop  in  the  city.  Bourke  returned  that  night  bringing 
with  him  a  printed  card,  showing  the  number  of  people 
in  their  house,  their  names  and  the  amount  of  meat 
allowed  each — 100  grammes  daily. 

"  It  looks  serious,"  he  said,  handing  the  card  to 
Yolette.  "  We  are  also  obliged  to  secure  three  days 
rations  at  a  time." 

The  name  of  the  Mouse  did  not  appear  on  the  card ; 
they  invented  a  name  for  him  that  served  its  purpose. 
But  the  alarming  part  was  that  the  government  flatly 
refused  to  nourish  Scheherazade  at  its  expense,  and 
even  suggested  sending  her  to  the  Zoo  in  the  Jardin 
des  Plantes. 

"  Never  !  "  cried  Hild6,  putting  both  arms  around 
Scheherazade's  neck ;  but  the  lioness  no  longer  re 
sponded,  and  Hild£  looked  at  her  sorrowfully,  mourn 
ing  the  change  in  her  gentle  favourite. 

It  was  Thursday,  October  27.  Harewood  had  gone 
as  usual  to  the  war-office  ;  Bourke  and  Yolette  sat  in 
the  dining-room,  examining  the  week's  accounts  ;  Hilde 
moved  about  her  own  little  chamber,  humming  her 
Breton  songs.  Through  the  window  she  could  see  the 
Mouse,  painfully  splitting  firewood  under  the  uncom 
promising  superintendence  of  Red  Riding  Hood. 


202  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

t(  You  split  too  large,"  said  the  child  ;  "  don't  you 
know  how  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  Mouse,  sulkily. 

"  Then— here— give  me  the  hatchet !  There  !  That's 
how  wood  should  be  split." 

"  Don't  let  me  deprive  you  of  the  pleasure,"  sneered 
the  Mouse,  as  she  handed  him  the  hatchet  again  ;  but 
the  child  disdained  to  answer. 

"  Mince !  "  observed  the  Mouse,  "  do  they  want 
wood  for  a  month  ?  " 

Red  Riding  Hood  turned  up  her  nose. 

"Bon,"  said  the  Mouse,  "I'll  die  of  fatigue,  but 
there  is  nobody  to  weep."  He  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
picked  up  another  log,  and  chopped  on.  Hilde 
smiled  to  herself,  watching  the  comedy  from  her 
curtained  window.  The  happy  light  in  her  eyes,  the 
song  on  her  lips — the  song  that  her  heart  was  singing, 
too — transfigured  and  glorified  her  face.  In  it  the 
childish  sweetness  had  changed  to  something  more 
delicate  and  subtle  ;  the  purity  of  contour  was  almost 
spiritual,  the  curve  of  the  scarlet  lips  grew  finer  and 
more  exquisite.  Strength  had  shallowed  the  dimples 
that  nestled  in  soft  corners ;  the  beauty  of  her  eyes 
was  indescribable,  her  every  gesture  a  caress. 

There  were  moments  when,  as  she  sat  thinking  in 
her  chamber,  the  swift  tears  filled  her  eyes  and  her 
heart  failed.  At  such  moments  terror  of  death — his 
death — brought  her  to  her  knees  at  the  bedside.  But 
the  rosary  was  near,  and  so  was  Sainte  Hild£  of  Car- 
haix,  mended  with  glue,  azure-mantled,  serene,  still 
smiling  in  spite  of  a  missing  nose. 

Hild6  sewed  at  times — not  in  the  dining-room, 
where  Yolette,  demure  and  silent,  listened  to  Bourke's 


THE   WOMAN   WHO   WAITS.  203 

opinion  of  everything  under  the  sun.  He  discussed 
ethics  and  morals  and  human  happiness  ;  he  touched 
on  transubstantiation,  on  agriculture,  on  logic.  But 
he  never  spoke  of  love.  Possibly  his  opinions  were 
valuable ;  probably  not,  for  he  had  little  imagination. 

"  Do  you  think,"  said  Yolette,  "  that  it  is  going  to 
rain  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  replied. 

A  silence  ensued.  There  seemed  to  be  no  further 
excuse  for  lingering ;  he  rose  unwillingly  and  picked 
up  his  accounts. 

"  Must  you  go?"  asked  Yolette,  innocently. 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  asked  him  to  stay. 
He  sat  down  hastily  and  realised  it.  She  went  to  a 
table,  sorted  some  silks,  chose  a  needle  or  two,  and 
presently  looked  at  him  over  her  shoulder  as  though 
surprised  to  see  him  there  yet.  He  felt  this  ;  it  con 
fused  and  pained  him. 

"  Perhaps  I  had  better  go,"  he  said.  She  apparently 
did  not  hear  him,  and,  after  a  moment,  he  decided  not 
to  repeat  the  remark.  Presently  she  returned  to  her 
chair,  seated  herself,  threaded  some  needles  and 
began  to  smooth  out  the  embroidery  on  her  knee. 
He  could  not  withdraw  his  eyes;  her  delicate  fingers 
fascinated  him. 

"  One,  two,  three,  four,  and  one,  two,  and  one,  two, 
three,"  said  Yolette,  counting  her  stitches.  He  felt 
himself  excluded  from  the  conversation  ;  he  looked 
out  of  the  window  and  chafed.  Had  he  seen  the 
glance  that  Yolette  stole  at  him — the  instant  dropping 
of  the  blue  eyes  when  he  moved — perhaps  he  might 
have  felt  less  injured.  He  did  not;  he  listened  in 
silence  as  she  began  again.  "  One,  two,  three,  four, 


204  ASHES  OF  EMPIRE. 

and  one,  two,  and  one,  two,  three."  He  watched  her 
slender  fingers  guiding  the  flying  needle  ;  those  slim 
fingers  were  in  her  confidence ;  she  seemed  to  be 
gossiping  with  every  rosy  tip,  every  polished  nail. 
Her  head  was  the  slightest  bit  averted  ;  the  whiteness 
of  her  neck  dazzled  him. 

After  awhile,  Yolette  dropped  the  embroidery  Into 
her  lap  and  sighed.  Her  arms  rested  on  the  arms  of 
her  chair.  One  hand  dropped  quite  close  to  his 
shoulder.  He  regarded  it  with  rising  interest.  It 
was  white  and  delicately  veined  with  blue ;  it  looked 
very  smooth  and  young  and  helpless.  After  a  mo 
ment  he  took  it  naively.  It  was  then  that  a  series  of 
thrills  shot  through  his  limbs,  depriving  him  of  sight, 
hearing  and  a  portion  of  his  other  senses.  He  was 
vaguely  aware  that  the  hand  he  held  was  responsible 
for  this;  he  held  it  tighter.  Yolette,  perhaps,  was 
asleep.  "Are  you?"  he  inquired  aloud.  "What?" 
asked  Yolette,  amazed. 

Bourke  only  stared  at  her  until  again  she  turned 
her  head  to  the  window.  They  sat  there  in  absolute 
silence.  A  lethargy,  a  delicious  numbness,  settled 
over  Bourke.  He  would  have  been  contented  to  sit 
there  for  centuries. 

Presently  Yolette  tried  to  withdraw  her  hand,  failed, 
tried  again,  failed,  and  resigned  herself — not  unwill 
ingly.  She  was  very  young. 

"  We  will  live  in  New  York,"  said  Bourke,  speaking 
in  a  trance.  After  a  silence  he  added,  "  in  a  brown- 
stone  house.  We  will  have  many,  many  children." 

"Who?"  said  Yolette,  faintly. 

"  Who  ?  why  you — you  and  I " 

Yolette   turned  quickly :   her   cheeks  were   aflame. 


THE   WOMAN  WHO   WAITS.  2O5 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  demanded,  breathlessly. 

"Are  you — you  not  going  to  marry  me?"  faltered 
Bourke.  His  expression  was  absurd.  They  had  both 
risen ;  she  stood,  leaning  a  little  forward,  one  hand 
resting  on  a  chair.  The  silence  was  absolute.  After 
a  little  she  swayed,  almost  imperceptibly,  toward  him  ; 
he  toward  her.  He  dared  not  touch  her  again — yet 
now  he  found  his  arms  around  her  waist,  her  head 
close  to  his.  It  frightened  him  into  speech — a  stam 
mering,  pleading  speech,  that  had  a  burden  not  at  all 
complicated,  "  I  love  you  !  I  love  you,  Yolette  !  " 

When  he  kissed  her  she  rendered  him  his  kiss  inno 
cently.  His  courage  revived,  and  he  told  her  things 
that  only  she  had  a  right  to  hear.  That,  perhaps,  is 
the  reason  why  Mehemet  Ali  withdrew  from  the  sofa 
back  to  the  gloom  under  the  sofa.  Perhaps,  too,  that 
was  the  reason  why  Hilde,  entering  the  room  from  the 
rear,  paused,  turned,  and  glided  back  to  her  white  bed 
room,  where,  with  Sainte  Hilde  of  Carhaix,  she  began 
a  duet  of  silence.  She  had  been  waiting  there  an 
hour,  possibly  two  hours,  before  the  door  creaked, 
swayed  and  swung  open,  and  Yolette  was  in  her  arms. 

"My  darling!  My  darling !"  laughed  Hilde",  tear 
fully,  "  I  am  very,  very  happy — don't  cry — why  should 
we?" 

All  day  long  they  sat  there,  arms  and  fingers  inter 
laced,  and  night  darkened  the  room  before  they  kissed 
and  parted,  Yolette  to  her  own  room,  Hilde"  to  the 
front  door,  where  now  she  always  lingered  until  Hare- 
wood  came  back  from  the  city. 

She  stood  there,  dreaming,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the 
corner  by  the  Prince  Murat  barracks.  He  always 
came  around  that  corner. 


206  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

One  by  one  the  signal  lamps  broke  out  along  the 
bastions  ;  the  stars,  at  first  so  brilliant,  faded  in  the 
cloudless  sky.  She  could  see  no  haze,  no  vapour,  but 
the  air  appeared  to  thicken  around  each  star  till  it 
tarnished,  grew  dull,  and  at  last  vanished  in  mid- 
heaven.  A  sudden  shaft  of  cold  struck  through  the 
street ;  and  now,  around  each  lamp  and  lantern  and 
flaring  gas-jet  a  gossamer  eclipse  began  to  form  that 
grew  iridescent  and  more  palpable  every  moment. 
Once  a  patrol  passed,  lanterns  swinging — a  shrouded, 
cloaked  file  of  silent  men,  trudging  through  the  dark 
ness  with  never  a  drum-tap  to  echo  the  clump,  clump 
of  their  clumsy  boots. 

Yolette  came  to  the  door  and  waited  there  a  few 
moments  with  her  sister.  "  Come,"  she  whispered  at 
last:  "do  you  not  know  that  dinner  is  waiting?" 
Neither  moved  to  go.  Presently  Yolette  spoke  again  : 
"What  is  it,  little  sister?"  Hilde  was  silent.  "I 
knew  it,"  said  Yolette,  under  her  breath. 

Hilde"  turned  slowly  :  "  You  knew  it  ?  "  she  motioned. 

"Yes." 

Somewhere  in  the  night  a  cab  rattled  over  a  stone 
pavement ;  a  dog  barked  down  by  the  Porte  Rouge. 
"  See  the  rockets,"  said  Yolette  ;  "it  is  Mont-Val6rien 
that  sends  them  up.  They  are  talking  to  Saint  Denis 
with  their  rockets ;  Monsieur  Bourke  says  so.  And 
now  Saint  Denis  will  send  the  message  to  the  Fortress 
of  the  East.  Hild£,  little  sister,  you  are  crying." 

"  I  am  afraid." 

Was  it  the  sudden  cold  that  chilled  her?  She 
shivered  and  turned  back  into  the  house.  Bourke 
moved  about  lighting  candles  in  the  dining-room — 
there  was  no  more  lamp  oil — and  Yolette  went  to  the 


THE   WOMAN    WHO   WAITS.  2O/ 

table  and  seated  herself,  her  eyes  innocently  answering 
the  adoration  in  her  lover's  eyes.  They  waited  in 
rapturous  silence  until  Hilde  entered.  Then  Bourke 
sat  down  and  the  meal  began. 

About  nine  o'clock  Red  Riding  Hood  came  to  clear 
the  table.  Hilde  aided  her,  bearing  out  her  own  un 
touched  plate,  pausing  to  cry  a  little  in  the  dark  en 
try,  until  she  heard  Bourke  laughing  in  the  dining- 
room,  and  that  comforted  her.  But  when  she  returned 
serene  and  smiling,  the  smile  died  on  her  lips,  for 
Bourke  was  saying:  "  I  wonder  what  could  keep  Jim  ! 
I  don't  like  it.  He  ought  to  have  been  here  before 
dark." 

A  little  spasm  of  fear  passed  through  her  heart ; 
she  turned  and  entered  the  hallway  ;  before  she  had 
reached  the  front  door,  it  opened,  and  a  gust  of  icy 
wind  swept  across  her  face.  At  first  she  thought  it 
was  he  who  had  entered ;  there  was  nobody  there. 
The  rising  wind  tore  a  shutter  loose  on  the  floor 
above  ;  the  tree  in  front  of  the  house  swayed,  bowed, 
bent  and  creaked,  showering  the  sidewalk  with  whirl 
ing  leaves.  Then,  in  a  moment,  it  was  over  ;  the  wind 
died  out,  all  sounds  and  movements  seemed  to  cease 
as  at  an  unheard  command.  The  hush  terrified  her ; 
she  looked  up  through  the  thick  air,  looked  up  through 
a  grey  descending  veil,  a  palpable  haze  that  covered 
her  with  a  million  sifting  snowflakes.  Straight  down 
from  the  fathomless  vault  of  midnight  they  fell 
athwart  dim  gas-jets — ghostly,  noiseless,  ominous 
flakes.  They  melted  at  first,  wetting  the  sidewalks 
till  the  reflected  gas-jets  trembled  like  torches  mirrored 
in  a  river.  After  a  while,  greyish  patches  and  dim 
blots  of  snow  appeared  here  and  there,  spreading 


208  ASHES  OF  EMPIRE. 

faster  than  they  melted  ;  the  tree  was  spotted  like  a 
forest  beech,  the  grass  on  the  glacis  whitened  as  she 
looked.  The  chill  in  the  air  had  vanished,  yet  far 
away  she  scented  the  cold — the  clear,  clean  breath  of 
winter. 

Out  over  dark  hills  and  valleys,  over  rivers,  woods 
and  spires,  the  unseen  snow  was  falling ;  she  felt  it  as 
though  each  flake  were  falling  on  her  heart.  Her  eyes 
strove  to  pierce  the  gloom  where  all  the  world  was 
waiting  breathless  in  the  snow — waiting  as  she  waited 
— for  what?  Again  that  sick  fear  struck  through  her 
breast ;  there  came  a  distant  echo  of  footsteps  scarcely 
softened  in  the  snow,  nearer,  nearer — a  shadow  passed 
across  a  signal  lamp,  across  the  next — and  the  next. 
"Hilde!" 

He  held  her  crushed  to  his  breast  for  a  moment ; 
her  eyes  were  closed,  her  wet  hair  glistened  with  snow 
crystals  under  the  gas-jet  overhead.  A  minute 
passed — two,  three  ;  he  lifted  her  head,  seeking  her 
lips.  "  Is  it  to-night  ?  "  she  sobbed. 

"Yes." 

After  a  moment  he  gently  unclasped  her  arms, 
stepped  to  the  hallway  and  called  :  "  Bourke  !  " 

"  Not  to-night ! — not  yet ! — "  she  moaned,  reaching 
out  blindly.  He  caught  up  both  her  hands  and  kissed 
them  again  and  again. 

And  now  Bourke  was  coming  through  the  hallway, 
bearing  a  lamp,  and  behind  him  was  Yolette.  Hare- 
wood  whispered :  "  It's  for  to-night,  Cecil — Bellemare's 
division  is  leaving  Saint  Denis.  Get  your  despatches 
quick.  The  cavalry  are  riding  by  the  Saint  Ouen 
gate  ;  the  Fortress  of  the  East  supports  them.  Hurry, 
Cecil,  I've  only  a  second." 


THE  WOMAN   WHO   WAITS.  209 

Bourke  turned  and  hurried  up  the  stairs ;  Yolette 
looked  from  Harewood  to  Hilde".  "  Can't  it  be 
helped  ?  "  she  asked  at  last. 

"  No,  I  must  go.  After  I  have  gone — then  tell 
Bourke — not  before — he  would  not  let  me  go."  He 
kissed  Hilde  quietly,  saying  that  there  was  nothing  to 
fear — saying  that  he  would  soon  return  to  be  with  her 
always.  Bourke  reappeared  with  a  little  packet ;  Yo 
lette  was  crying. 

"Jim,"  said  Bourke,  "I  will  go — if  you  say  the 
word." 

Harewood  smiled  and  pressed  his  hand  lightly. 
"  Good-by,"  he  said  ;  "  there'll  be  no  trouble."  Yo 
lette  hid  her  head  in  her  hands ;  Hilde*  turned  a  white 
face  to  Harewood.  He  hesitated,  glanced  at  Bourke 
with  inscrutable  eyes,  then  for  the  last  time  took 
Hilde"  to  his  breast — a  second — and  was  gone. 

"  Jim  !  "  stammered  Bourke,  "  you — you  can't  go — 
I  didn't  understand  ! — I — Jim — wait ! — come  back, 
you  fool ! " 

"  Hilde  !  "  whispered  Yolette,  with  ashen  lips. 

But  Hilde"  no  longer  saw  ;  no  longer  heard. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  SORTIE. 

AT  midnight  Harewood  passed  the  fortifications, 
riding  with  a  troop  of  hussars  to  a  point  where  the 
Crevecceur  road  crosses  the  military  highway  between 
the  fortress  of  Aubervilliers  and  the  village  of  Le 
Bourget.  Here  the  hussars  wheeled  westward  toward 
Saint  Denis,  calling  back  to  him  a  friendly  "  bon  voy 
age,"  and  he  rode  on  alone. 

His  horse  was  already  tired ;  it  was  the  only  mount 
he  had  been  able  to  find  in  Paris,  a  great  raw-boned 
cavalry  charger,  condemned  at  the  depot  and  destined 
for  the  omnibus  or  the  butcher. 

Harewood  spared  the  creature  when  he  could,  but 
the  highway  was  already  deep  in  slush  and  ice  and  the 
horse  slipped  at  every  ascent. 

Post  after  post  was  passed ;  the  pickets  at  Drancy 
stopped  him,  then  let  him  go  when  they  found  his 
papers  satisfactory.  Again  he  was  stopped  where  the 
shattered  railroad  crosses  the  Coeurneuve  highway, 
and  there  the  obstinate  outpost  was  mollified  by  an 
officer  who  knew  Harewood  and  who  sent  him  on  his 
way  with  a  mirthless  laugh  that  rang  false  and  sad 
through  the  falling  snow. 

There  was  nothing  to  be  seen — now  and  then  a 
yellow  lantern  lighting  up  the  blackness,  blotted  out 
suddenly  in  a  flurry  of  snow — a  dim  highway  deep 


THE   SORTIE.  211 

with  mud,  over  which  thin  films  of  ice  had  formed, 
only  to  crackle  under  his  horse's  feet.  Off  there  in 
the  darkness  to  the  westward  the  three  forts  of  Saint 
Denis  lay  in  obscurity — the  fort  de  la  Briche,  the  Fort 
ress  of  the  East  and  the  battery  of  the  Double-Crown. 
Behind  him  the  fort  of  Aubervilliers  crouched  above 
the  highway  in  utter  darkness,  indifferent,  unheeding 
the  dim  signals  displayed  from  the  bastions  of  the 
enceinte.  Once  a  roaming  quartet  of  Franc-tireurs 
appeared  at  his  stirrups  and  seized  his  horse.  They 
all  were  drunk  and  sullenly  suspicious,  cursing,  shov 
ing,  demanding  papers  and  passwords,  and  handling 
their  rifles  with  a  carelessness  that  threatened  the  exis 
tence  of  everybody  concerned.  They  lighted  lanterns 
at  length  and  examined  Harewood,  commenting  on 
his  tweed  Norfolk  jacket,  on  the  many  pockets  on 
breast  and  hip,  and  finally  on  the  corded  riding- 
breeches  and  spurred  boots.  Evidently  they  coveted 
the  boots. 

"  Take  them,  gentlemen,"  said  Harewood,  sarcasti 
cally,  "  and  I'll  return  with  General  Bellemare  to  show 
him  how  my  boots  fit  you." 

This  produced  its  effect ;  the  Franc-tireurs  protested 
that  they  cared  neither  for  General  Bellemare  nor  for 
the  boots.  They  consigned  General,  boots  and  Hare- 
wood  himself  to  a  livid  and  prophetic  future,  and  let 
him  go,  shouting  after  him  that  Flourens*  carbiniers 
would  strip  him,  General  or  no  General. 

This  was  pleasant  news  for  Harewood ;  he  had  had 
no  idea  that  Flourens'  three  battalions  were  out.  With 
a  sudden  misgiving  he  drew  bridle  and  looked  intently 
ahead.  There  was  nothing  to  see  but  swirling  sheets 
of  snow.  He  listened,  peering  into  the  gloom.  Sup- 


212  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

pose  Speyer  should  meet  him  here  alone  ? — or  Buck- 
hurst  ? 

He  gathered  the  bridle  nervously ;  the  horse  moved 
forward.  "  Halt !  Qui  Vive  !  "  a  voice  broke  out  in 
the  darkness. 

"  France !  "  cried  Harewood,  with  a  sudden  sinking 
of  his  heart.  Cloaked  and  shrouded  mounted  figures 
appeared  on  every  side,  a  pale  lantern  glimmered  in 
his  face,  swung  again  to  the  ground  and  went  out. 

"  C'est  bien,"  said  somebody,  close  at  his  elbow, 
"  laissez  passez,  Monsieur  Harewood."  Colonel 
Lavoignet's  escort  parted  right  and  left ;  one  or  two 
officers  greeted  the  American  pleasantly  from  the 
darkness. 

'*  What  troops  are  these,"  asked  Harewood,  striving 
to  recognise  his  unseen  friends. 

"  The  34th  de  marche,"  said  somebody. 

"  The  second  and  third  brigades  are  passing  the 
forts,"  added  another. 

Again  a  lantern  gleamed  out  and  Harewood  saw 
General  Bellemare  passing  close  in  front,  escorted  by 
dragoons,  cloaked  to  the  ears.  The  keen-eyed  young 
General  smiled  at  Harewood,  who  lifted  his  cap  in 
silence.  "  Are  you  going  with  us  to  Le  Bourget  ?  " 
asked  the  General,  drawing  bridle  and  holding  out  a 
gloved  hand. 

"  Oui,  mon  General — with  your  permission,"  replied 
Harewood  ;  "  I  have  General  Trochu's  consent,"  he 
added. 

"Then  what  do  you  want  with  mine?"  queried 
General  Bellemare,  with  a  good-humoured  gesture  ; 
"you  journalists  are  a  nuisance,  Monsieur  Harewood 
— a  nuisance  !  " 


THE   SORTIE.  213 

"  I  am  to  carry  through  despatches,  General ;  may  I 
be  of  service  to  you  ?  " 

General  Bellemare  shook  his  head  and  wheeled  his 
horse.  "  Wait  until  we  take  Le  Bourget,"  he  said, 
and  trotted  forward,  followed  by  his  plunging  snow* 
covered  escort. 

The  snowflakes  that  were  now  falling  seemed  fine  as 
sifted  flour  ;  they  powdered  the  route  with  a  silvery 
dust  that  lay  thick  in  every  rut  and  ditch,  they  blew 
across  the  fields  in  sheets  and  drifting  pillars,  they 
whirled  up  before  gusts  of  wind,  flurry  after  flurry, 
dim  phantom  shapes  that  filled  the  darkness  with 
movements  half  seen,  half  divined. 

Harewood  found  himself  riding  beside  a  mounted 
captain  of  the  34th  Infantry,  de  marche ;  on  either 
side  plodded  the  troops,  rifles  en  bandouliere,  over 
coats  covering  faces  that  turned  shrunken  and  pallid 
under  the  sudden  rays  of  some  swiftly  lifted  lantern. 

The  long  echo  of  crunching  footsteps,  the  trample 
and  sigh  of  horses,  the  sense  of  stifling  obscurity,  de 
pressed  Harewood.  He  watched  a  lantern's  sickly 
rays  lighting  up  the  knapsacks  and  muddy  trousers  of 
a  line  of  men  in  front ;  he  spoke  to  the  mounted  cap 
tain  riding  in  silence,  his  heavy  head  buried  in  his  wet 
cloak  collar,  but  the  officer  did  not  seem  to  hear  him. 

The  snow  turned  to  finest  grains  of  ice,  the  frozen 
dust  pattered  and  rattled  on  wet  caps,  on  soaked  over 
coats  and  stiffened  epaulettes.  Again  a  sudden  shaft 
of  cold  passed  through  the  air,  bringing  with  it  a  mist 
that  hung  to  the  fringe  of  the  marching  column,  and 
grew  faintly  luminous  as  the  snow  ceased  to  fall.  The 
fog  became  denser,  a  sour  odour  of  sweat  and  wet 
smoke-saturated  clothing  filled  the  air.  The  soaking 


214  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

saddles,  the  drenched  manes  of  the  horses,  the  rifle- 
barrels,  gave  out  a  stuffy,  penetrating  smell  that 
choked  and  stifled.  There  was  scarcely  a  breath  of 
air  stirring;  steam  rose  from  the  men's  breath;  the 
horses'  flanks  were  smoking. 

Harewood  rode  on  in  silence,  listening  to  the  creak 
of  saddles,  the  slop !  slop  !  of  steel-shod  hoofs,  the 
crushing  crackle  of  thousands  of  tired  feet. 

Once  the  infantry  captain,  riding  beside  him  in  the 
dark,  spoke :  "  Monsieur,  if  you  are  going  through 
the  lines,  I  have  a  wife  and  child  at  Bonneuil — " 
''Give  me  the  letter,"  said  Harewood  soberly.  The 
captain  fumbled  in  the  breast  of  his  soaked  tunic, 
drew  out  a  wet  letter,  and  passed  it  to  Harewood. 

"Thank  you,  comrade,"  he  said.  As  he  spoke  a 
star  broke  out  overhead. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  velvet  depths  of  midnight 
were  spangled  with  stars — great  bluish  wintry  stars 
sparkling  like  frost  crystals  in  the  moonlight.  The 
long  black  column  detached  itself  from  the  shadowy 
plain,  massed  squads  of  horsemen  broke  the  level  of 
the  infantry,  and,  on  a  little  hill  in  front,  the  strange 
silhouettes  of  cannon  passing,  moved  in  shadow-shapes 
across  the  sky.  It  was  four  o'clock  in  the  morning ; 
Harewood  opened  his  watch  and  read  the  dial  by  the 
splendid  starlight.  "  We  are  near  Le  Bourget  ?  "  he 
asked  the  infantry  captain. 

"  We  are  there,"  said  the  captain,  ominously. 

Harewood,  standing  straight  up  in  his  stirrups,  saw 
a  little  river  just  ahead,  spanned  by  a  column  of  wad 
ing  infantry.  Horses,  too,  were  fording  the  shallow 
stream  a  few  rods  below,  and,  above,  the  cannoniers  of 
the  two  field  pieces  moved  cautiously  along  the  peb- 


THE   SORTIE.  215 

bled  shore  searching  for  a  safe  crossing.  On  the  op 
posite  bank  of  the  stream,  in  irregular  outline,  shad 
owy  houses  clustered,  a  single  dim  spire  rose  in  their 
midst ;  not  a  ray  of  light  came  from  the  dark  village, 
not  a  sound. 

Riding  ahead,  Harewood  felt  the  pebbled  shore  be 
neath  his  horse's  feet ;  beside  him,  the  infantry  were 
passing  the  ford,  while  the  black  water  gurgled  and 
swirled  to  their  knees.  Suddenly  all  along  the  op 
posite  bank  of  the  stream  a  line  of  tiny  lights  danced 
and  sparkled  like  fireflies  ;  there  came  a  rippling,  tear 
ing  crash,  the  keen,  whimpering  whisper  of  bullets — 
showers  of  bullets,  that  hurtled  and  smacked  on  stone 
and  rock  and  tore  through  the  bushes  on  either  side. 
Out  in  the  water  a  horse  reared,  sank  on  its  haunches, 
then  began  to  splash  furiously  ;  a  soldier  in  midstream 
started  to  run  in  a  circle,  shrieking ;  another  dropped 
forward  and  came  floating  past,  head  under  water, 
little  tin  cup  shining  in  the  starlight. 

A  shrill  cheer  broke  out  from  the  infantry;  the 
shallow  waters  of  the  ford  boiled  under  their  rush  ; 
mounted  officers  thrashed  through  the  water  shouting, 
"  Forward  !  Forward  !  "  and  the  avant  trains,  borne 
onward  by  lashed  horses,  swung  the  field  pieces  down 
to  the  shore  and  through  the  icy  water  to  the  bank 
opposite,  where  the  will-o'-the-wisp  lights  flickered 
and  danced  and  the  bullets  whistled  like  hail  through 
sheafed  wheat. 

The  first  rolling  crash  from  the  French  infantry 
rifles  seemed  to  extinguish  the  flicker  of  the  rifles  from 
the  opposite  shore.  Already  the  battery  horses  were 
galloping  back  with  the  limbers ;  the  two  cannon 
stood  apart,  half  hidden  by  shrubbery.  Then  through 
the  night  came  the  rush  of  a  column,  a  fierce  cheer : 


2l6  ASHES   OF  EMPIRE. 

"  The  bayonet !  the  bayonet ! "  and  Harewood, 
setting  spurs  to  his  horse,  rode  out  of  the  muddy 
field  to  the  highway,  where  the  French  onset  passed 
like  a  whirlwind  straight  into  the  black  throat  of  the 
village  street. 

It  was  over  in  a  moment ;  he  caught  a  glimpse  of 
figures  outlined  through  sheets  of  level  flame  ;  he  saw 
an  Uhlan,  clinging  to  the  neck  of  a  plunging  horse,  rear 
up  in  a  blaze  of  light  like  a  soul  in  torment.  Drums 
began  to  beat  from  the  extreme  right ;  on  the  left 
the  troops  were  cheering  fiercely.  A  battalion  of 
sailors  came  up  on  a  double-quick,  the  flames  from  a 
thatched  roof  on  fire  gleaming  on  rifle-barrel  and  cut 
lass,  on  the  red  knots  of  their  sailor  caps,  on  broadaxes 
swinging  and  glittering  as  the  blows  fell  on  oaken 
doors  from  which  spurted  smoke  and  needle-like 
yellow  flames.  There  were  strange  sounds,  too,  in  the 
houses — shrieks,  blows,  the  dull  explosion  of  rifles  be 
hind  barred  shutters,  the  clangor  of  a  bell  that  began 
swinging  and  ringing  in  some  unseen  steeple.  A  rush 
of  strange  cavalry  passed  like  the  wind — they  were 
Uhlans  of  the  Prussian  Guard,  stampeding  frantically 
toward  the  open  country.  They  drove  past,  a  cy 
clone  of  slanting  lances,  of  tossing  pennons  and 
frenzied  horses,  enveloped  in  flame  and  smoke  from 
the  French  rifles,  while  the  savage  cheering  redoubled 
and  swift  jetted  flashes  from  revolver  and  chassepot 
pricked  the  fringing  gloom  with  a  thousand  crimson 
rays. 

The  two  cannon  of  twelve  shook  the  earth  with 
their  discharges  in  the  east ;  from  the  west  two  other 
cannon,  pieces  of  four,  broke  in  with  shotted  blasts, 
accompanied  by  the  sinister  drumming  of  a  mitrailleuse 


THE  SORTIE. 

from  the  Blanc-Mesnil  highway.  The  little  river 
Mollette  reflected  the  glare  of  a  burning  thatch ;  a 
drowned  horse,  with  bloated  belly  and  hideous  stiff 
legs,  swayed  with  the  current,  stranded  on  a  shoal. 

Harewood,  covered  with  mud,  stood  on  the  steps  of 
the  village  church ;  his  own  dead  horse  lay  in  the 
gutter  under  a  shattered  lamp-post,  its  patient,  sad 
eyes  glazing  in  the  sickly  light  of  the  torches.  Gen 
eral  Bellemare,  cloaked  and  muddy,  stood  near  Hare- 
wood  on  the  church  steps,  surrounded  by  dismounted 
officers.  Harewood  heard  him  say  : 

"  The  I4th  Mobile  Battalion  and  the  Franc-tireurs 
will  occupy  the  village  ;  a  detachment  of  three  infantry 
battalions  and  two  guns  will  form  the  grand'garde,  to 
be  relieved  every  twenty-four  hours.  Two  battalions 
of  the  I35th  will  hold  Cceurneuve ;  Admiral  Saisset 
must  cover  the  right  flank  with  the  sailors  and  fortify 
Drancy.  Where's  Colonel  Martin  ?  O,  well,  Colonel, 
are  you  under  the  guns  of  Aubervilliers  ?  No  ?  Is  it 
too  far?  Where  are  those  Belleville  carbiniers?" 

"  The  Belleville  carbiniers  ran,"  said  an  officer,  with 
a  short,  dry  laugh. 

There  was  a  silence,  then  another  laugh. 

"  If  I  had  my  way,  I'd  shoot  this  Flourens,"  said 
General  Bellemare,  quietly.  His  glance  fell  on  Hare- 
wood  and  he  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Monsieur  Harewood,  I  fear  you  will  have  to  wait 
before  trying  to  pass  the  lines.  It  appears  we  are  to 
receive  no  aid  from  Paris;  we  must  rely  on  Saint 
Denis,  according  to  General  Trochu." 

"  But,"  said  Harewood,  astounded,  "  Le  Bourget  is 
the  key  to  Saint  Denis ;  isn't  it  worth  holding  ?  It 
has  been  won  gallantly." 


21 8  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

"  Of  course  it's  worth  holding,"  broke  out  General 
Hanrion,  violently.  General  Bellemare  made  a  ges 
ture  of  assent : 

"  It  is  the  key  to  the  Double-Crown  battery,"  he 
said  ;  "  surely  they  must  realise  this  in  Paris.  If  I 
dared  to  leave  Le  Bourget — if  I  dared  go  myself  and 
persuade  the  Governor — " 

He  looked  hard  at  Hanrion,  who  nodded  back  at  him. 

"  Saint  Denis  can't  aid  us  now,"  cried  Colonel 
Lavoignet ;  "  let  them  send  us  a  dozen  batteries  from 
Paris.  Do  they  expect  us  to  annihilate  the  whole  of 
the  Prussian  Guard-Royal  ?  Let  the  Uhlans  go  back 
and  tell  their  King  that  a  handful  of  Mobiles  and  fan- 
tassins  sent  them  packing." 

Everybody  moved  uneasily.  The  apathy  of  Gen 
eral  Trochu  disheartened  them.  Here  was  a  victory 
— the  first  victory  under  the  walls  of  Paris.  And  now, 
when  it  was  won,  the  Governor  thought  it  scarcely 
worth  the  powder.  Yet  Le  Bourget  was  the  point  of 
the  wedge  with  which  the  German  lines  might  be  split ; 
it  pierced  the  very  centre  of  the  north  zone  of  invest 
ment,  threatened  the  German  eastern  communications, 
and  finally  assured  Saint  Denis  and  opened  a  wider 
area  of  operations  for  the  army  of  Paris. 

General  Bellemare  drew  out  the  telegraphic  des 
patch  from  Paris  and  read  it  again  with  knitted  brows: 

"  Le  Bourget  has  no  important  bearing  upon  out 
line  of  defense,  and  is  not  necessary  to  our  general 
plan  of  operation.  "  Trochu, 

"  Governor  of  Paris." 

What  was  the  sombre  Trochu  dreaming  of  ?  What 
dark  chimera  did  he  follow,  dreaming  awake  as  he 
paced  the  dim  chambers  of  the  war-office  ? 


THE   SORTIE.  219 

"  Messieurs,"  said  General  Bellemare,  sharply,  "  call 
my  escort.  I  leave  for  Paris  to-morrow."  General 
Hanrion  stepped  forward,  face  lighted  with  hope. 

"  By  God ! "  he  cried,  "  the  Governor  shall  listen 
now  or " 

"  Or  it  will  be  too  late,"  said  General  Bellemare, 
quietly.  He  stood  a  moment  watching  the  tattered 
Mobile  battalions  pressing  wearily  toward  the  Mol- 
lette.  The  boyish  soldiers  turned  their  sad  faces  to 
ward  him ;  some  smiled,  some  raised  ragged  arms  in 
salute.  A  little  bugler  sounded  a  fanfare,  but  he  was 
too  exhausted  to  finish  and  hung  his  head  in  shame, 
while  a  sergeant  scolded  him  to  conceal  the  tears  in 
his  own  eyes.  On  every  face  the  fine  lines  of  hunger 
drew  lips  tight  and  sharpened  nose  and  cheekbone ; 
in  every  eye  the  last  flicker  of  hope  had  died;  yet 
they  marched,  turning  their  patient,  pallid  faces  to 
their  General,  who  watched  them  in  silence — these 
men  who  had  conquered  and  who  were  now  left  to 
die — because  General  Trochu  had  "other  plans."  At 
last,  when  they  had  passed,  General  Bellemare  turned 
and  walked  slowly  into  the  church,  up  to  the  altar, 
holding  his  sword  clasped,  cross  on  his  medalled 
breast. 

When  he  knelt  Harewood  stepped  to  the  church 
door  and  closed  it. 

There  was  a  sudden  stillness  in  Le  Bourget. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

LE   BOURGET. 

AT  daylight  it  began  to  snow  again  ;  an  hour  later 
torrents  of  rain  swept  the  deserted  streets  of  the  vil 
lage.  The  roar  of  the  wind  awoke  Harewood.  A 
sickly  twilight  stole  through  the  church,  where,  rolled 
in  his  blanket,  he  had  slept  under  the  altar  among 
a  dozen  drenched  officers. 

A  cavalry  bugler,  swathed  to  the  chin  in  his  dripping 
cloak,  stood  inside  the  chancel,  strapping  his  shako 
chain  with  numb  fingers.  He  had  hung  his  bugle 
over  the  arm  of  the  crucifix,  and  now,  as  his  pinched, 
sick  face  turned  to  the  sunken  face  on  the  cross,  he 
paused,  hand  outstretched.  After  a  second's  silence 
he  crossed  himself,  unhooked  the  bugle,  and,  setting  it 
stiffly  to  his  shrunken  lips,  blew  the  reveille.  A  hun 
dred  shadowy  forms  stumbled  up  in  the  gloom,  the 
vibrating  shock  of  steel  filled  the  church.  An  artillery 
officer,  sabre  clashing  on  the  stone  floor,  left  the 
church  on  a  run,  pulling  on  his  astrachan  jacket  as  he 
passed  out  into  the  storm. 

Harewood  stood  up,  aching  in  every  bone.  He 
shook  his  blanket,  opened  his  despatch  pouch,  counted 
the  papers,  snapped  back  the  lock  and  yawned. 

An  officer  beside  him  began  to  shiver  and  shake,  a 
thin,  lantern-jawed  fellow,  yellow  with  jaundice  and 
covered  from  cap  to  boot  with  half  dry  mud. 


LE   BOURGET.  221 

Somebody  said  :  "  Go  to  the  hospital."  The  officer 
turned  a  ravaged  face  to  Harewood  and  smiled. 

Outside  the  church  the  infantry  bugles  were  sound 
ing  ;  their  thin,  strident  call  set  Harewood's  teeth  on 
edge.  He  rolled  and  strapped  his  blanket,  slung  the 
despatch  pouch  from  shoulder  to  hip  and  stumbled 
out  to  the  church  door,  where  a  dozen  horses  stood, 
heads  hanging  dejectedly  in  the  pouring  rain.  A 
mounted  hussar,  with  a  lance  in  his  stirrup  boot, 
looked  sullenly  at  Harewood,  who  called  to  him  : 
"  Whose  escort  is  that  ?  " 

"  General  Bellemare's,"  replied  the  trooper. 

"Is  he  going  to  Paris?" 

"  Yes,  monsieur,  in  half  an  hour." 

Harewood  glanced  down  the  dismal  street.  The  low 
stone  houses,  shabby  and  deserted,  loomed  dark  and 
misty  through  the  storm  ;  everywhere  closed  shutters, 
closed  doors,  dismantled  street  lamps,  stark  trees,  rusty 
railings  on  balcony  and  porch ;  everywhere  the  down 
pour,  fiercer  when  the  wind  swept  the  rain-spears,  rank 
on  rank,  against  the  house-fronts.  And  now,  down  the 
street,  through  the  roaring  wind  and  slanting  sheets 
of  rain,  marched  a  regiment — a  spectral  regiment, 
gaunt  drummers  ahead,  lining  the  flooded  pavement 
from  gutter  to  gutter,  sloppy  drums  vibrating  like  the 
death-rattle  of  an  army.  It  was  the  1 28th  of  the  line 
— the  relief  for  the  grand  guard.  After  it,  one  by  one, 
rumbled  four  cannon  and  a  mitrailleuse,  escorted  by 
Mobiles — the  I2th  battalion  of  the  Seine. 

The  hussar  backed  his  horses  onto  the  sidewalk 
while  the  infantry  were  passing.  Harewood  leaned 
from  the  church  steps  and  touched  him  on  the  shoul 
der. 


222  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

"  Will  you  deliver  a  letter  in  Paris  for  me  ?  "  he 
asked. 

The  hussar  nodded  sulkily  and  said :  "  Are  you 
going  to  stay  here  with  the  troops  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Harewood,  sitting  down  under  the 
porch  and  beginning  to  write  on  a  pad  with  a  stump 
of  red  pencil. 

"  Then  you'll  not  need  an  answer  to  your  letter," 
observed  the  hussar. 

Harewood  raised  his  eyes. 

"  Because,"  continued  the  trooper,  with  an  oath, 
"  that  damned  Trochu  won't  send  you  any  cannon, 
and  you'll  all  die  like  rats — that's  why  !  " 

Harewood  thought  a  moment,  then  went  on  writing 
to  Bourke: 

"  The  sortie  was  no  sortie  after  all  ;  it  was  a  raid  on 
Le  Bourget  by  Bellemare.  Trochu  isn't  inclined  to 
back  him  up,  and  here  we  are,  wedged  into  the  Ger 
man  lines,  able  to  pierce  them  if  supported  from  Paris, 
but  in  a  bad  mess  if  Paris  abandons  us.  Bellemare 
starts  for  Paris  in  half  an  hour  to  urge  personally  the 
direction  of  a  supporting  column.  If  the  Germans 
come  at  us  while  he's  gone  I  don't  know  how  it  will 
end. 

"  In  case  of  accident  you  will  find  duplicates  of  all 
despatches  in  my  washstand  drawer.  I  would  go  back 
to  Paris  if  it  were  not  such  a  shame  to  risk  losing  this 
chance  to  get  through  the  lines.  If  worst  comes  to 
worst,  I  think  I  can  get  back  safely.  But  in  case  you 
don't  hear  from  me — " 

He  started  to  add  something  about  Hilde",  but 
crossed  it  out.  Instead  he  wrote,  "God  bless  you  all," 
then  scratched  that  out,  for  he  had  a  horror  of  battle- 


LE   BOURGET.  223 

field  sentiment  and  doleful  messages  4<  from  the  front." 

He  raised  his  head  and  watched  the  storm.  Swifter 
and  swifter  came  the  rain,  dashing  itself  to  smoking 
mist  on  the  glistening  slate  roofs.  A  shutter  hanging 
from  one  twisted  hinge  swung  like  an  inn  sign  across 
the  fagade  of  a  cottage  opposite. 

He  wrote  again  a  message  to  Hilde,  cheerful  and  op 
timistic — a  gay  pleasantry  untinged  with  doubt  or 
foreboding — and  signed  his  name,  "  James  Harewood." 

When  he  had  sealed  and  directed  the  letter,  he 
handed  it  to  the  hussar,  saying  cheerfully  - 

"  Thank  you,  comrade,  for  your  trouble." 

The  trooper  thrust  the  letter  into  the  breast  of  his 
tunic,  pocketed  the  silver  piece  that  Harewood  held 
out  to  him,  and  nodded  his  thanks. 

A  few  moments  later  General  Bellemare  came  out 
of  the  house  next  the  church  and  climbed  into  his 
saddle,  calling  sharply  to  his  escort,  and  off  they  tore 
into  the  teeth  of  the  storm,  the  hussar's  lance  flying  a 
crimson  guidon  that  snapped  like  a  wet  whiplash  in 
the  tempest. 

Harewood  prowled  around  the  church,  picking  up 
scraps  of  information  from  officers  and  men,  until  he 
found  that  he  knew  quite  as  much  about  the  situation 
as  anybody  did,  which  was  really  nothing. 

He  leaned  against  the  gothic  column  that  supported 
the  west-choir,  eating  a  bit  of  bread  and  drinking  from 
time  to  time  the  mixture  of  wine  and  rain-water  that 
stood  in  a  great  stone  font — where  once  the  good  peo 
ple  of  Le  Bourget  had  found  holy-water.  The  church 
swarmed  with  soldiers  at  breakfast,  some  eating  raven 
ously,  some  walking  about  listlessly,  nibbling  bits  of 
crust,  some  sitting  cross-legged  on  the  stone-slabbed 


224  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

floor,  faces  vacant,  a  morsel  of  bread  untasted  in  their 
hands.  They  came  to  dip  their  little  tin  cups  into  the 
basin  where  the  wine  and  water  stood  ;  one,  forgetful, 
touched  the  crimson  liquid  with  his  fingers  and  crossed 
himself.  Nobody  laughed. 

About  7  o'clock,  without  the  slightest  warning,  a 
violent  explosion  shook  the  street  in  front  of  the 
church.  Before  Harewood  could  reach  the  door  three 
shells  fell,  one  after  another,  and  exploded  in  the 
street,  sending  cobblestones  and  pavement  into  the  air. 

"  Keep  back  !  "  shouted  an  officer.  "  Close  the 
doors  !  "  Harewood  ran  out  into  the  street.  Far  away 
toward  Pont-Iblon  the  smoke  of  the  Prussian  guns 
hung  heavily  in  the  air. 

"  Are  you  coming  back  ?  "  bawled  a  soldier.  "  We're 
going  to  close  the  church  doors." 

Harewood  came  back,  calling  out  to  an  officer,  "  It's 
the  batteries  behind  Pont-Iblon  !  " 

Some  soldiers  piled  pews  and  chairs  into  heaps 
under  the  stained-glass  windows.  On  each  of  these 
heaps  an  officer  climbed,  field  glasses  levelled.  The 
men  lay  down  on  the  floor.  Many  of  them  slept. 

The  cannonade  now  raged  furiously ;  for  an  hour 
the  wretched  village  was  covered  with  bursting  shells. 
Suddenly  the  tumult  ceased,  and  Harewood,  clinging 
to  a  shattered  window,  heard  from  the  plain  to  the 
northward  the  long  roll  of  volley  firing.  A  moment 
later  he  was  in  the  street,  running  beside  a  column  of 
Mobiles.  Everywhere  the  French  bugles  were  ringing, 
the  cobblestones  echoed  with  the  clatter  of  artillery 
dashing  past,  summoned  from  Drancy  by  rocket 
signal. 

Harewood,  perched   astride   a   stucco  wall,  looked 


LE  BOURGET.  225 

across  the  plain  and  saw  dark  masses  of  the  Prussian 
Guard  advancing  in  silence  through  the  rain.  The 
French  shells  went  sailing  out  over  the  plain,  dropping 
between  the  Prussian  skirmishers  and  the  line  of 
battle  ;  the  Prussian  cannon  were  silent. 

It  seemed  to  him  that,  after  a  while,  the  dark  lines 
ceased  to  advance,  but  were  swinging  obliquely  toward 
Blanc-Mesnil.  Presently  he  saw  that  the  Germans 
were  actually  retiring  and  he  wondered,  while  the 
troops  along  the  wall  muttered  their  misgivings  as  the 
Prussian  lines  faded  away  in  retreat,  accompanied  by 
shotted  salutes  from  the  Fortress  of  the  East  and  the 
unseen  batteries  of  Aubervilliers. 

All  day  he  roamed  about  the  village,  trying  to  form 
some  idea  of  its  defensive  possibilities,  and  at  night 
he  returned  to  the  church.  The  rain  had  ceased 
again,  but,  through  the  fog,  a  fine  drizzle  still  de 
scended,  freezing  as  it  fell,  until  the  streets  glistened 
with  greasy  slush.  There  were  fires  lighted  along  the 
main  street ;  across  the  red  glare  silhouettes  passed 
and  repassed. 

Harewood  looked  up  at  the  gothic  portal  of  the 
church,  all  crimsoned  in  the  firelight.  Above  it  the 
rose-window  glittered  with  splendid  hues,  dyed  deep 
in  the  flames'  glow,  and  still,  above  the  rose-window, 
the  cross  of  stone,  dark  and  wet,  absorbed  the  ruddy 
light  till  it  gleamed  like  a  live  cinder.  Somewhere  in 
the  village  a  battalion  was  marching  to  quarters ;  he 
heard  the  trample  of  the  men,  the  short,  hoarse  com 
mands  of  the  officers,  the  clatter  of  a  mitrailleuse 
dragged  along  by  hand. 

"  The  carbiniers  are  insubordinate/'  said  an  officer 
beside  him.  "  I  wish  the  General  was  here." 


226  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

"  The  carbiniers  ?  "  repeated  Harewood  ;  "  I  thought 
they  had  run  away." 

"  Part  of  them  ran,"  said  an  artillery  officer,  sulkily ; 
"  two  companies  got  lost  near  Blanc-Mesnil  and  had 
to  come  back  when  the  cannonade  began." 

"They're  in  the  next  street,"  said  another  officer; 
"  they  are  quarrelling  because  there  has  been  no  dis 
tribution.  Damn  them,"  he  added,  "  the  distribution 
they  deserve  is  a  volley  from  a  gatling." 

Harewood  listened  a  moment  to  the  chorus  of  de 
nunciation  that  arose  from  the  group  around  the  fire. 
From  it  he  gathered  that  Flourens  and  his  carbiniers 
had  fled  at  the  first  attack  on  Le  Bourget,  and,  on  the 
whole,  he  was  rather  glad,  for  he  had  no  desire  to  en 
counter  any  of  the  battalion  that  the  Undertakers  had 
sent  out.  He  went  to  the  corner  of  the  street  and 
looked  down  the  short  transverse  alley  where  the 
camp-fires  of  the  two  carbinier  companies  blazed 
fiercely.  Curiosity  led  him  on  and  in  a  moment  he 
had  done  the  very  thing  that  he  intended  to  avoid — 
he  was  standing  in  the  midst  of  a  group  of  carbiniers, 
listening  to  their  angry  bickerings. 

The  two  companies  were  fantastic  enough  in  their 
strange  uniforms.  Hunger  had  made  them  sullen. 
They  cursed  their  officers,  their  generals  and  Le  Bour 
get.  At  daylight  they  intended  to  leave  for  Paris — 
they  had  had  enough  of  this  sortie  foolishness.  They 
were  freezing,  they  were  tired,  they  were  hungry,  and, 
above  all,  the  stereotyped  phrase  was  on  every  carbin 
ier's  lips  :  "  Treason  !  Our  Generals  have  betrayed 
us!" 

Disgust  succeeded  Harewood's  curiosity  ;  he  glanced 
around  the  fire  and  started  to  retrace  his  steps.  As 


LE   BOURGET.  22/ 

he  passed  out  of  the  fire  circle  he  looked  back  at  the 
mutinous  carbiniers,  and,  as  he  looked,  he  distinctly 
saw  Buckhurst  and  Mortier  come  out  of  a  house  with 
their  arms  full  of  plunder.  Startled,  he  stepped  back 
into  the  shadow  of  a  gate  and  watched  them.  And 
now  he  recognised  Speyer  and  Stauffer,  both  in  the 
full  uniforms  of  carbinier  officers,  holding  pillow-cases, 
while  Buckhurst  dumped  his  plunder  into  the  im 
provised  sacks  and  Mortier  tied  them  tight. 

The  plundering  had  become  general;  bands  of  the 
carbiniers  began  smashing  windows  and  breaking 
down  doors  all  along  the  street ;  others  came  out 
loaded  with  the  wretched  household  articles  of  the 
poorer  peasantry,  clocks,  dishes,  pewter  vessels,  cloth 
ing,  bed  linen,  and  even  furniture.  The  latter  they 
flung  onto  the  bonfires  ;  Harewood  saw  a  baby's  cradle 
tossed  into  the  fire. 

"The  miserable  savages,"  he  muttered.  "Why 
don't  they  turn  the  cannon  on  them ! " 

The  tumult  of  the  orgie  was  attracting  attention 
now  ;  an  officer  galloped  up  on  a  jaded  horse,  gesticu 
lating  furiously,  but  the  carbiniers  menaced  him  with 
their  rifles,  and  he  withdrew  in  time  to  save  his  skin. 

Consoling  himself  with  the  hope  that,  on  General 
Bellemare's  return  from  Paris,  a  court-martial  would 
probably  settle  Buckhurst  and  his  carbiniers,  Hare- 
wood  went  back  to  the  church,  where  the  camp-fires 
roared  and  sent  showers  of  sparks  into  the  fog,  and 
the  rose-window  glimmered  and  glistened,  red  as 
blood. 

Inside  the  church  the  officers  were  at  dinner.  He 
accepted  an  invitation  and  sat  down  on  the  altar  steps 
with  his  bit  of  bread  and  morsel  of  dry  beef. 


228  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

The  wavering  flare  from  the  camp-fire  filtered 
through  the  stained  glass ;  the  sombre  depths  of  the 
church  were  tinged  with  violet  and  crimson — dusky 
clustered  columns  glittered  purple  ;  the  crucifix  was 
bathed  in  shadow  save  where  a  single  trembling  beam 
of  light,  red  as  blood,  lay  like  an  open  wound  across 
the  pierced  side  of  our  dying  Lord. 

He  looked  up  into  the  vaulted  roof,  stone  ribbed, 
black  with  the  shadows  of  centuries  ;  he  heard  the 
roar  of  the  camp-fires,  the  crackle  of  damp  logs,  the 
scrape  and  stamp  and  stir  of  sleepy  horses,  the  deep 
breathing  of  sleeping  men.  He  rose  noiselessly  and 
crept  out  into  the  street.  The  fog  hung  thick  on  the 
heavy  flying  buttresses,  on  fleche  and  gargoyle  and  on 
the  fluted  robes  of  saints  and  martyrs,  peering  down 
from  their  niches  into  the  fire  glow,  where,  swathed  in 
their  cloaks,  lay  the  martyrs  to  be,  not  saints,  but  men, 
sick,  freezing,  starving  things,  called  the  I28th  of  the 
line. 

They  lay  there  like  lumps  on  the  church  steps,  in 
doorways — they  nestled  in  the  gutter,  they  huddled 
against  doorposts,  these  clods  of  breathing  clay — sod 
den  and  ragged  and  filthy,  sinful,  lustful  and  human, 
sleeping  their  brief  sleep  till  the  white  dawn  roused 
and  summoned  them  home  forever. 

Faint  cries  from  the  sentries,  fainter  responses,  the 
crackle  and  snap  of  logs  afire,  and  the  tall  shad 
ows  wavering,  these  were  all  that  he  saw  and  heard. 
The  carved  stone  gargoyles  dripped  water  from  every 
fantastic  snout ;  the  reflected  flames  played  over  pillar 
and  column,  saint  and  martyr,  cross  and  crown. 

All  day  he  had  driven  thoughts  of  Hild£  from  him, 
but  now,  at  midnight,  when  the  lamp  of  life  burns 


LE   BOURGET.  229 

lowest  and  the  eyes  close,  and  death  seems  very  near 
—he  thought  of  her ;  and  lying  down  in  the  street  be 
side  the  fire,  he  questioned  his  soul.  At  night,  too, 
the  soul,  stirring  in  the  body — perhaps  at  the  nearness 
of  God — awakens  conscience. 

He  had  never  before  thought  seriously  of  death. 
Its  arrival  to  himself  he  had  never  pictured  in  con 
crete  form.  In  the  abstract  he  had  often  risked  it, 
never  fearing  it,  because  mentally  too  inert,  too  lazy 
to  apply  such  a  contingency  to  his  own  familiar  body. 

Now,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  closed  his  eyes 
and  saw  himself,  just  as  he  lay,  but  still,  wet,  muddy 
and  horribly  silent.  He  opened  his  eyes  and  looked 
soberly  at  the  fire.  After  a  little  he  closed  his  eyes 
again,  and  again  he  saw  himself  lying  as  he  lay,  wet, 
muddy,  motionless,  as  only  the  dead  can  lie.  He  had 
known  fear,  but  never  before  the  dull  foreboding  that 
now  crept  into  his  heart.  To  open  his  eyes  and  see 
the  fire  was  to  live :  to  shut  his  eyes  was  to  reflect  the 
image  of  death  upon  his  closed  lids.  At  first  he  dis 
dained  to  shake  it  off — this  mental  shadow  that  passed 
across  his  sense.  What  if  it  were  true?  He  had 
lived.  It  was  the  old  selfishness  stifling  the  sense  of 
responsibility — his  responsibility  to  the  world,  to  him 
self,  to  Hilde.  To  Hilde? 

He  sat  up  in  his  blanket  and  stared  into  the  fire. 
Slowly  the  comprehension  of  his  responsibility  came 
to  him,  his  duty,  all  that  was  due  to  her  from  him,  all 
that  he  owed  her,  all  that  she  should  claim,  one  day, 
claim  in  life  or  in  the  life  to  come.  Die?  He  couldn't 
die — yet.  There  was  something  to  do  first  !  Who 
spoke  of  death  ?  There  was  too  much  to  do,  there 
were  matters  of  honour  to  arrange  first,  there  was  a 


230  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

debt  to  pay  that  neither  death  nor  hell  nor  hope  of 
paradise  could  cancel.  Was  death  about  to  prevent 
him  from  paying  that  debt  ? 

He  was  walking  now,  moving  aimlessly  to  and  fro 
under  the  porch  of  the  church.  A  sentry,  huddled 
against  a  column,  regarded  him  apathetically  as  he 
passed  out  into  the  street.  And  always  his  thoughts 
ran  on : 

"  If  I  have  this  debt  to  pay,  what  am  I  doing  here? 
What  right  have  I  to  risk  death  until  it  is  paid  ?  And 
if  I  die—if  I  die—  " 

His  thoughts  carried  him  no  further.  Hilda's  pale 
face  rose  before  him.  He  read  terrible  accusation  in 
her  eyes.  And  he  repeated  aloud,  again  and  again, 
"  I  must  go  back."  For  he  understood  now  that  his 
life  was  no  longer  his  own  to  risk — that  it  belonged  to 
Hilde.  Nor  would  he  ever  again  have  the  right  to 
imperil  his  life  until  they  had  risen  together  from 
their  knees,  before  the  altar,  as  man  and  wife.  He 
looked  out  into  the  mist,  ruddy  with  the  camp-fire 
glow.  Would  morning  ever  come?  Why  should  he 
wait  for  morning  ?  At  the  thought,  he  caught  up  his 
pouch  and  blanket,  rolled,  strapped  and  adjusted  them, 
and  stole  out  into  the  darkness. 

Almost  at  once  he  heard  somebody  following  him, 
but  at  first  he  scarcely  noticed  it.  Down  the  main 
street  he  passed,  over  the  slippery  cobblestones,  eyes 
fixed  on  a  distant  fire  that  marked  the  last  bivouac  in 
the  village  before  the  street  ends  at  the  ruined  bridge 
across  the  Mollette.  It  was  as  he  approached  this 
camp-fire  that  he  realised  somebody  had  been  follow 
ing  him.  He  paused  a  moment  in  the  circle  of  firelight 
and  turned  around.  Nothing  stirred  in  the  darkness 


LE   BOURGET.  231 

beyond.  He  waited,  then  started  on  again,  crossing 
the  Lille  highway  to  the  line  of  bushes  that  marked 
the  water's  edge.  No  sentinel  challenged  him  ;  he 
waded  the  ford  below  the  wrecked  stone  bridge, 
climbed  the  bank  opposite,  and  started  across  a  wet 
meadow,  beyond  which  lay  the  muddy  road  to  Paris. 
Half-way  through  the  meadow  he  halted  again  to 
listen.  The  unseen  person  was  wading  the  ford — he 
could  hear  him  in  the  water ;  now  he  was  climbing 
the  bank  ;  the  bushes  crackled  ;  a  footstep  fell  on  the 
gravel. 

Harewood  waited,  peering  through  the  gloom.  He 
could  see  nothing;  the  silence  was  absolute.  Who 
ever  was  following  him  had  stopped  out  there  some 
where  in  the  darkness. 

A  little  unnerved,  Harewood  turned  again  and 
hastened  through  the  meadow  to  the  highway.  When 
he  reached  the  road  he  could  scarcely  see  it,  but  he 
felt  the  mud  and  gravel  beneath  his  feet,  and  started 
on.  In  a  moment  he  heard  the  footsteps  of  his  fol 
lower,  not  behind,  now,  but  in  front — between  him 
and  Paris.  He  stopped  abruptly  and  drew  his  re 
volver.  A  minute  passed  in  utter  silence.  Then 
there  came  a  soft  footfall  close  in  front,  a  whining 
voice: 

"  Monsieur!  " 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  said  Harewood,  sharply. 

"The  Mouse,  monsieur." 

In  his  astonishment,  the  revolver  almost  fell  from 
Harewood's  hand.  "  What  the  devil  are  you  doing 
here  ?  "  he  demanded ;  "  and  why  the  devil  are  you 
sneaking  about  like  this  ?  Answer,  you  fool !  I  nearly 
shot  you  just  now  !  " 


232  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

The  Mouse  crept  up  to  Harewood  as  a  sulky,  vicious 
cur  comes  to  his  punishment. 

"  Answer,"  repeated  Harewood  ;  "  why  are  you  fol 
lowing  me  ?  " 

"  I  wasn't  sure  it  was  you,"  muttered  the  Mouse. 

"  What  ?     Why  did  you  come  to  Le  Bourget  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  Mouse,  sullenly. 

Harewood's  amazement  turned  to  impatience. 

"You'd  better  answer  me,"  he  said  ;  "you  certainly 
didn't  come  here  for  love  of  my  company  !  " 

But  that  was  exactly  the  reason  why  the  Mouse 
had  come.  The  instinct  of  a  savage  cur  for  its  master, 
the  strange  attraction  that  decency  and  courage  have 
for  the  brutally  vicious,  the  necessity  that  dwarfed  in 
telligence  feels  for  the  companionship  and  guidance 
and  protection  of  healthy  mentality — all  these  started 
the  Mouse  out  of  Paris  as  an  abandoned  mongrel 
starts  to  find  its  missing  master. 

Harewood  understood  this  at  last,  and  it  touched 
him — not  that  the  Mouse  explained  it.  He  could  not 
have  explained  it  even  if  he  himself  comprehended 
the  reason  of  his  seeking  Harewood.  All  he  knew 
was  this — that  he  missed  Harewood,  that  he  was  used 
to  him,  that  he  felt  uncomfortable  without  him.  So 
he  came.  Even  a  gutter  cat,  forcibly  transported  into 
distant  parts,  turns  up  again  in  its  old  haunts.  Hare- 
wood's  company  had  become  the  haunt  of  the  Mouse. 
So  he  came  back  to  it. 

The  wretched  creature  was  nearly  starved.  Hare- 
wood  drew  him  into  the  thicket  beside  the  road  and 
gave  him  his  last  morsel  of  bread  and  meat. 

"  Imbecile  !  "  he  whispered,  while  the  Mouse  gnawed 
the  crust,  squatting  on  his  muddy  haunches,  "  there 


LE   BOURGET.  233 

may  be  Prussian  pickets  anywhere  along  the  fields. 
Didn't  you  know  it  ?  " 

11  Yes,"  said  the  Mouse,  tranquilly  ;  "  there's  a  picket 
of  Uhlans  just  ahead." 

This  was  startling  news  for  Harewood. 

"  Where?  "  he  demanded  under  his  breath. 

"  About  a  kilometre  over  that  way,"  replied  the 
Mouse,  jerking  his  thumb  toward  the  southeast.  He 
was  going  to  add  something  more  when  the  sudden 
tinkle  of  a  horse's  shod  foot  striking  stones  broke  out 
in  the  night.  They  crouched  low  in  the  thicket  listen 
ing.  The  road  was  lighter  now :  a  grey  shadow  passed, 
a  horseman  trailing  a  lance.  Others  rode  up,  mounted 
on  wiry  little  horses,  all  carrying  tall  lances  that  rat 
tled  in  their  saddle-boots. 

As  Harewood  strained  his  eyes,  the  moon  broke  out 
overhead — a  battered,  deformed  moon,  across  whose 
pale  disk  the  flying  scud  whirled  like  shredded  smoke. 

A  gutteral  voice  began  in  German : 

" Where  are  the  scouts — eh?" 

Then  in  the  moonlight  Harewood  saw  Speyer  and 
Stauffer,  clad  in  the  uniform  of  the  carbiniers,  salute 
the  Uhlan  officer  and  hand  him  a  thin  packet  of  pa 
pers.  The  Mouse  beside  him  trembled  like  a  terrier 
at  a  rat  hole ;  Harewood  clutched  his  arm  and  stared 
at  the  group  in  the  road. 

There  was  a  brief  parley,  a  word  of  caution,  then 
the  Uhlans  wheeled  their  horses  and  galloped  back 
toward  Paris,  and  the  two  traitorous  carbiniers  struck 
off  across  the  meadow  toward  Le  Bourget,  then  made 
a  demi-tour  and  followed  the  bank  of  the  river.  Very 
cautiously  Harewood  crept  out  to  the  road  when  the 
gallop  of  the  Uhlans  had  died  away. 


234  ASHES    OF    EMPIRE. 

The  Mouse  stood  beside  him,  an  open  claspknife  in 
his  fist,  nostrils  quivering  in  the  freshening  wind. 

Harewood  glanced  at  the  knife  and  said,  "  What  are 
you  going  to  do?  Cut  your  way  to  Paris?  Come 
back  to  Le  Bourget,  you  fool !  " 

Half-way  back  across  the  wet  meadow  the  Mouse 
asked  :  "  And  if  we  overtake  Speyer  ?  " 

"  Are  you  the  public  executioner  ?  "  said  Harewood 
sharply.  "  Put  up  that  knife,  I  tell  you  !  " 

The  Mouse  closed  his  knife  and  plodded  on  in  silence. 

After  a  while  Harewood  asked  him  about  Bourke 
and  Hilde  and  Yolette,  but  he  knew  little  more  than 
Harewood  did,  for  he  had  left  the  house  on  the  ram 
parts  the  morning  after  Harewood's  departure,  and 
since  then  had  been  following  him  up. 

Morning  was  breaking  as  they  forded  the  Mollette 
and  answered  the  sentry's  challenge  from  the  ruined 
highway.  It  was  Sunday,  the  thirtieth  of  October — a 
desolate  Sunday  in  a  desolate  land.  They  hurried 
through  the  main  street,  where  sleepy  reliefs  were 
marching  to  replace  the  pickets  along  the  river,  and  at 
last  they  reached  the  church,  where  a  group  of  officers 
stood  on  the  steps  in  attitudes  of  dejection. 

"  Colonel  Martin,"  cried  Harewood,  "send  a  file  of 
men  to  arrest  two  captains  of  the  carbiniers,  Speyer 
and  Stauffer.  I  charge  them  with  treason  !  Here 
is  my  witness  !  "  He  dragged  the  Mouse  up  the  steps 
and  led  him  forward.  In  half-a-dozen  sentences  he 
told  what  he  had  seen  ;  the  Mouse  nodded  his  cor- 
roboration,  stealing  cunning  glances  about  him  and 
shuffling  his  muddy  shoes,  partly  to  inspire  self-con 
fidence,  partly  because  he  appreciated  the  importance 
of  his  present  position. 


LE   BOURGET.  235 

11  But,"  said  an  artillery  officer,  "  the  carbiniers  have 
already  gone.  I  heard  them  breaking  camp  before 
daylight." 

"  Gone  !  "  repeated  Harewood. 

"They  followed  the  river  bank  toward  Blanc- 
Mesnil." 

Before  Harewood  could  speak  again,  a  cannon  shot 
from  the  end  of  the  street  brought  the  soldiers  out  of 
the  church  on  a  run.  At  the  same  moment  a  shell 
struck  a  house  opposite  and  burst. 

Colonel  Martin,  now  ranking  officer  in  the  village, 
turned  quickly  to  Harewood  and  said :  "  If  I  live  to 
get  out  of  this  I'll  have  the  carbiniers  before  a  drum 
head  court-martial.  Are  you  going  back  to  Paris?" 

"  If  I  can,"  said  Harewood. 

"  If  you  get  there  have  these  carbinier  officers  ar 
rested  by  the  first  patrol." 

Harewood  started  again  toward  the  river,  calling 
impatiently  for  the  Mouse  to  follow.  The  bombard 
ment  from  the  Prussian  guns  had  suddenly  become 
violent  ;  shells  fell  everywhere,  exploding  on  slate 
roofs,  in  court-yards,  in  the  middle  of  the  street. 

The  Mouse,  half  dead  with  terror,  shrieked  as  he 
ran,  ducking  his  head  at  every  crash,  one  hand  twisted 
in  Harewood's  coat,  one  shielding  his  face. 

"  This  won't  do,"  cried  Harewood,  dragging  the 
Mouse  into  a  hallway;  "we've  got  to  wait  until  the 
bombardment  stops.  Here,  break  in  this  door ! 
Quick !  " 

Together  they  forced  the  door  and  entered.  The 
house  was  dark  and  empty.  Harewood  climbed  the 
stairs,  groped  about,  unfastened  the  scuttle  and  raised 
himself  to  the  roof.  North,  east  and  west  the  smoke 


236  ASHES   OF  EMPIRE. 

of  the  Prussian  guns  curled  up  from  the  plain.  In 
the  north,  vast  masses  of  troops  were  moving  toward 
Le  Bourget,  cannonaded  by  the  Fortress  of  the  East  at 
long  range. 

There  was  no  chance  to  reach  Paris  ;  he  saw  that  at 
the  first  glance.  He  saw,  too,  the  French  pickets 
being  chased  back  into  Le  Bourget  by  Uhlans,  and  he 
heard  the  drumming  of  a  mitrailleuse  in  the  west  end 
of  the  village,  where  columns  of  smoke  arose  from  a 
burning  house.  Far  away  in  the  grey  morning  light 
the  Fortress  of  the  East  towered,  circled  with  floating 
mist,  through  which  the  sheeted  flashes  of  the  cannon 
played  like  lightning  behind  a  thundercloud. 

And  now  began,  under  the  guns  of  Saint  Denis  and 
Aubervilliers — almost  under  the  walls  of  Paris — that 
first  of  a  series  of  terrible  blows  destined  to  reduce 
France  to  a  moral  and  physical  condition  too  painful, 
too  pitiable,  to  describe.  For  the  storming  of  Le 
Bourget  made  the  Commune  a  certainty,  and,  although 
the  second  and  third  attempts  at  anarchy  were  to 
prove  abortive,  the  fourth  insurrection  was  inevitable ; 
and  the  political  triumph  of  Monsieur  Thiers  assured 
its  success. 

As  for  the  miserable  village  of  Le  Bourget,  it  was 
already  doomed.  Black  masses  of  the  Prussian  Guard 
gathered  like  a  tempest  in  the  north,  and  swept  across 
the  plain  in  three  columns.  From  Dugny,  from 
Pont-Iblon,  from  Blanc-Mesnil,  they  poured  down 
upon  Le  Bourget,  firing  as  they  came  on.  Right 
through  the  main  street  they  burst,  hurling  back  the 
Mobiles,  sweeping  the  barricade,  and  turning  again  to 
batter  down  doors  and  windows,  where,  through  the 
blinds,  the  soldiers  of  the  I28th  of  the  line  were  firing 


LE   BOURGET.  237 

frenziedly.  From  the  slate  roof  where  he  crouched 
Harewood  saw  the  Mobiles  give  way  and  run.  In  a 
minute  the  interior  of  the  village  swarmed  with  panic- 
stricken  soldiers.  The  Prussians  shot  them  as  they 
ran.  Shells  tore  through  them,  and  whirled  them 
about  as  winds  whirl  gaily-tinted  autumn  leaves.  A 
battery,  a  mass  of  wrecked  limbers,  dying  horses  and 
smashed  guns,  choked  the  transverse  alley.  Behind  it 
a  company  of  the  I28th  fought  like  wildcats  until  the 
Prussian  "  Queen  Elizabeth  Regiment  "  took  them  on 
the  flank,  and  bayonetted  them  to  the  last  man.  And 
now,  from  the  west,  two  splendid  regiments  swept 
into  Le  Bourget — the  "  Emperor  Francis  "  and  the 
"  Emperor  Alexandre,"  Regiments  of  the  Prussian 
Guard  Royal — driving  before  them  an  agonized  mob 
of  Mobiles,  Franc-tireurs  and  linesmen.  The  mas 
sacre  was  frightful.  The  Prussian  bayonets  swept  the 
streets  as  scythes  swing  through  ripe  grass.  South 
and  east  the  village  was  on  fire.  In  the  west  the  fir 
ing  had  ended,  and  the  Uhlans  capered  from  garden 
to  garden,  spearing  the  frightened  fugitives,  and  shout 
ing,  "  Hourra  !  Hourra  !  Mit  uns  ist  Gott !  "  In  the 
north,  however,  the  I28th  line  regiment  still  held  out. 
The  men  had  barricaded  themselves  in  the  stone 
houses  lining  both  sides  of  the  main  street,  and  were 
firing  from  the  windows  into  the  thick  of  the  Germans. 
The  street  swam  with  smoke,  through  which  the  Prus 
sians  dashed  again  and  again,  only  to  stagger  back 
under  the  blaze  of  rifle  flames. 

Harewood,  on  the  roof,  was  a  mark  now  for  the 
German  riflemen.  Bullet  after  bullet  thwacked 
against  the  chimney  behind  which  he  clung.  He 
waited  his  chance,  then  crawled  along  the  slates  and 


238  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

dropped  into  the  scuttle,  where  the  Mouse  stood 
speechless  with  terror. 

It  was  time  that  he  left.  A  shell,  bursting  in  the 
cellar,  had  ignited  some  stored  fagots,  and  the  first 
floor  of  the  house  had  already  begun  to  burn  fiercely. 

"Come,"  he  said,  "we  must  make  a  dash  for  the 
church!"  And  he  seized  the  Mouse,  dragged  him 
down  the  smoking  stairs  to  the  street  door,  and  out 
over  the  cobble-stones,  where  a  group  of  officers  and  a 
couple  of  dozen  Voltigeurs  of  the  Guard  were  running 
toward  the  church,  pursued  by  Uhlans. 

Up  the  steps  and  into  the  dark  church  they  tumbled 
pellmell,  Harewood  and  the  Mouse  among  them. 
They  closed  the  great  doors,  bolted  and  barricaded 
them  with  benches,  pews  and  heavy  stone  slabs  from 
the  floor.  Already  the  Voltigeurs  were  firing  through 
the  stained  glass  across  the  street ;  the  officers  climbed 
beside  them  and  emptied  their  revolvers  into  the 
masses  of  Prussians  that  surged  around  the  church  in 
a  delirium  of  fury. 

Harewood,  looking  over  the  shoulder  of  an  officer, 
saw  the  Prussian  pioneers  digging  through  the  walls 
of  the  houses  across  the  street,  saw  the  German  sol 
diers  pour  into  the  breach,  saw  them  at  the  windows 
bayonetting  the  remnants  of  the  I28th  and  flinging  the 
wounded  from  the  windows.  From  house  to  house 
the  pioneers  opened  the  walls.  It  was  necessary  to 
exterminate  the  garrison  of  each  separate  cottage,  for 
none  of  them  surrendered. 

The  houses  that  adjoined  the  church  were  swarm 
ing  with  Prussian  infantry.  They  fired  into  the 
church  windows,  shouting,  "  Hourra  !  Hourra  !  Preus- 
sen  !  No  quarter  !  " 


LE   BOURGET.  239 

The  officer  next  to  Harewood  was  killed  outright ; 
two  others  fell  back  to  the  stone  floor  below.  At  the 
next  volley  five  Voltigeurs  were  killed  or  wounded  ;  a 
blast  of  flame  entered  the  church  as  a  grenade  ex 
ploded  outside  a  window. 

The  Mouse,  in  an  agony  of  fright,  was  running  round 
and  round  the  church  like  a  caged  creature  looking  for 
some  chink  or  cranny  of  escape.  A  soldier  was  shot 
dead  beside  him  and  the  Mouse  stumbled  over  the 
dead  man  with  a  shriek.  That  stumble,  however,  al 
most  pitched  him  through  the  back  of  the  east  confes 
sional,  which,  in  reality,  was  a  concealed  door  leading 
directly  to  the  rear  of  the  church.  The  Mouse  thrust 
his  muzzle  out,  saw  a  garden,  a  dismantled  arbour  and 
no  Prussians.  His  first  instinct  drove  him  to  immediate 
flight :  he  crawled  through  the  door  on  hands  and 
knees  and  wriggled  into  the  arbour.  Then  came  a 
second  instinct — to  tell  Harewood.  Why  it  was  that 
the  Mouse  crept  back  into  the  church  at  the  risk  of  his 
miserable  life  nobody  perhaps  can  tell.  It  is  true  that 
frightened  animals,  when  unmolested,  often  return  to 
a  companion  in  trouble. 

Harewood  was  standing  by  a  high  stained-glass  win 
dow  doing  a  thing  that  meant  death  if  captured  ;  he 
was  firing  a  rifle  at  the  Germans. 

How  he,  a  non-combatant,  a  cool-headed  youth,  who 
seldom  needlessly  risked  his  skin,  could  do  such  a 
thing,  might  only  be  explained  by  himself.  In  case  of 
capture  he  would  not  have  been  harmed  had  he  minded 
his  own  business.  But  he  knew  very  well  that  a  swift 
and  merciless  justice  was  served  out  for  those  civilians 
who  fired  on  German  troops.  Yet  there  he  stood,  fir 
ing  with  the  rest — a  mere  handful  left  now  out  of 


240  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

the  thirty.  Two  or  three  officers  still  kept  their  feet, 
half-a-dozen  soldiers  were  yet  firing  into  the  2d  divi 
sion  of  the  Prussian  Guard  Royal,  numbering  nearly 
15,000  men.  Outside  the  shattered  windows,  dirty 
fingers  clutched  the  stone  coping  :  already  helmeted 
heads  bobbed  up  here  and  there,  inflamed  Teutonic 
faces  leered  into  the  church ;  there  came  the  scrape  of 
scaling  ladders  against  the  wall ;  worse  still,  the  rumble 
of  artillery  in  the  street  close  at  hand. 

One  of  the  half-dozen  survivors  glanced  around  the 
church.  It  was  a  butcher's  shambles.  Then  from  the 
street  came  a  shout,  "  Our  cannon  are  here !  Sur 
render!" 

"  Surrender  ?  "  repeated  Harewood,  vacantly.  Then, 
as  he  saw  a  wounded  creature  stagger  up  from  the 
floor  holding  out  a  white  handkerchief,  he  realised 
what  he  had  done.  Stunned,  he  stepped  back  to  the 
altar  as  the  firing  died  away.  He  saw  the  great  doors 
open  ;  he  saw  the  street  outside,  wet  and  muddy, 
choked  with  throngs  of  helmeted  soldiers,  all  staring 
up  at  the  door;  he  saw  a  cannon  limbered  up  and 
dragged  away,  the  mounted  cannoniers  looking  back 
at  the  portal  where  three  dozen  French  soldiers  had 
held  in  check  15,000  Germans. 

A  soldier,  streaming  with  blood,  rose  from  the  floor  of 
the  church  and  stumbled  blindly  out  to  the  steps ;  two 
more  carried  a  wounded  officer  beween  them  on  a  chair. 

Then,  as  the  German  troops  parted,  and  the 
wounded  man  was  borne  out  and  down  the  steps, 
Harewood  felt  a  tug  at  his  elbow  and  heard  a  whine : 

"  Monsieur — there's  a  hole  !  " 

The  next  instant  he  stepped  behind  the  confessional, 
crawled  through  the  dwarf  door,  and  ran  for  his  life. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  THIRTY-FIRST   OF  OCTOBER. 

ALL  day  Sunday  Hilde  sat  at  her  window,  looking 
out  over  grey  landscape  beyond  the  fortifications. 
Few  of  the  forts  were  firing ;  at  long  intervals  the 
majestic  reverberations  from  Mont-Valerien  shook  the 
heavy  air.  The  southern  forts  were  mute.  At  times 
she  fancied  that  she  could  hear  cannonading  in  the 
north,  far  away  toward  Le  Bourget,  but,  when  she 
held  her  breath  to  listen,  the  beating  of  her  own  heart 
was  more  audible. 

She  slept  badly  that  night,  dreaming  that  Hare- 
wood  was  dead,  and  she  awoke  in  an  ecstasy  of  terror, 
calling  his  name.  Yolette  came  to  her  and  comforted 
her,  curling  up  close  to  her  in  the  chilly  bed.  But  she 
could  not  sleep,  and  when  at  length  Yolette  lay  be 
side  her,  slumbering  with  a  smile  on  her  lips,  Hilde 
slipped  from  the  bed  and  climbed  the  dark  stairs  to 
Harewood's  empty  room.  It  was  something  to  be  in 
his  room — it  helped  her  to  look  out  into  the  darkness. 
For  he  was  somewhere  there  in  the  darkness. 

Shivering,  she  sat  down  by  the  window.  On  the 
fortifications  below,  the  unwieldly  bulk  of  the  Prophet 
loomed  up,  tilted  skyward,  a  shapeless  monster  in  its 
waterproof  covering.  Rockets  were  rising  slowly 
from  Mont-Valerien;  in  the  east,  the  sky  lowered, 
tinged  with  a  sombre  lurid  light,  perhaps  the  reflection 


242  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

of  some  hamlet  fired  by  the  Prussians,  burning  alone 
at  midnight. 

A  wet  wind  blew  the  curtains  back  from  the  open 
window;  her  little  naked  feet  were  numb  with  cold. 
The  never-ending  desire  to  see  his  room,  his  clothes, 
his  bed  again,  came  over  her.  She  dared  not  light  a 
candle — it  was  forbidden  to  those  who  lived  on  the 
ramparts — so  she  rose  and  passed  along  each  wall, 
touching  the  objects  that  had  once  been  worn  by  him. 
She  knew  them  already  by  touch,  his  grey  coat,  his 
riding  jacket,  his  hats  and  caps  and  whips  and  spurs. 
She  rearranged  the  brushes  and  toilet  articles  on  his 
bureau,  her  light  touch  caressed  his  books  and  papers 
and  pens  where  they  lay  on  the  little  table.  Then  she 
went  to  the  bed  and  buried  her  head  among  the 
pillows,  crying  herself  to  sleep — a  sleep  full  of  vague 
shapes,  a  restless  sleep  that  stole  from  her  heavy  lids 
at  dawn,  leaving  her  to  quench  the  fever  in  her  eyes 
with  tears  again. 

It  was  the  last  day  of  October.  Bourke  had  gone 
away  to  the  city  before  breakfast  to  verify  an  ominous 
rumour  concerning  Metz,  published  in  a  single  journal 
of  the  day  before,  and  vigourously  denied  by  the  Offi 
cial  Journal. 

Yolette  and  Red  Riding  Hood  were  in  the  cellar, 
storing  more  cases  of  canned  vegetables,  and  mourn 
ing  the  loss  of  Scheherazade,  who  had  been  sent  on 
Saturday  to  the  zoological  gardens  in  the  Jardin  des 
Plantes.  Bourke  had  insisted  on  it ;  food  was  be 
coming  alarmingly  scarce  ;  there  was  no  fresh  meat  to 
be  had  except  horse-meat,  and  even  that  was  to  be 
rationed  the  first  week  in  November. 

The  lioness  had  been  carted  off  sorely  against  her 


THE   THIRTY-FIRST   OF   OCTOBER.  243 

will.  She  snarled  and  growled  and  paced  her  cage 
with  glowing  eyes,  in  which  the  last  trace  of  gentle 
ness  and  affection  had  been  extinguished. 

Hilde,  deep  in  her  own  trouble,  scarcely  heeded 
this  new  one.  Scheherazade  had  been  changing  in 
disposition  ever  since  the  first  cannonading.  Sullen, 
furtive,  she  haunted  the  depths  of  the  garden,  ignor 
ing  Hilde's  advances,  until  Yolette  began  to  fear  the 
creature.  So  now,  when  it  was  necessary  to  send  the 
lioness  away,  Hilde  said  nothing  and  Yolette  was  not 
sorry.  Mehemet  Ali,  the  parrot,  however,  screeched 
his  remonstrance,  which  amused  Bourke,  because 
Scheherazade  was  the  first  living  thing  that  the  vicious 
old  bird  had  ever  shown  any  fondness  for. 

So  the  lioness  was  packed  off  to  be  fed  by  the  gov 
ernment,  and  Bourke  improved  that  opportunity  by 
sending  Mehemet  Ali  and  the  monkey  also,  which 
made  two  mouths  the  less  to  feed  in  case  of  famine. 

Down  in  the  cellar  Yolette  stood,  piling  tinned 
fruit  and  vegetables  against  the  division  wall,  aided 
by  Red  Riding  Hood.  At  the  child's  request,  Yolette 
was  varying  the  monotony  of  their  toil  by  telling  a 
fairy  story.  Red  Riding  Hood  listened  gravely  as 
Yolette  continued  : 

"  And  the  princess  waited  and  waited  for  her  dear 
prince,  who  had  gone  to  fight  the  Were-wolf.  And 
he  did  not  return." 

"  I  know,"  said  the  child,  "  what  you  mean." 

"  What  ?  "  asked  Yolette,  absently. 

"The  prince  is  Monsieur  Harewood  and  the  princess 
is  Mademoiselle  Hilde." 

"  And  the  Were-wolf  ?  "  said  Yolette,  faintly  amused. 

"  The  Were-wolf — that  is  the  Prussian  army." 


244  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

Yolette's  face  sobered. 

"  The  Prussians  are  very  cruel  and  very  fierce — like 
the  Were-wolf,"  she  said  ;  "  come,  little  one,  we  must 
go  to  the  kitchen." 

At  the  top  of  the  cellar  stairs  they  met  Bourke. 
His  serious  face  changed  when  he  saw  Yolette,  but  his 
expression  had  not  escaped  her. 

"  Breakfast  is  ready,"  she  said,  quietly  ;  "  I  have  not 
yet  breakfasted  myself.  Shall  we  go  in  ?  " 

She  led  the  way  into  the  dining-room  and  closed 
the  door.  He  put  his  arms  around  her  and  looked 
into  her  clear  eyes. 

"  It  is  bad  news,"  she  said,  slowly. 

"Yes,  Yolette." 

"  Not — not  about  Monsieur  Harewood  ?  " 

"  No— I  hope  not." 

"Tell  me,  Cecil." 

"  Metz  has  surrendered ;  Bazaine  and  his  army  are 
prisoners." 

Tears  filled  her  eyes. 

"  What  else,  Cecil  ? — There  is  something  else." 

"  Yes,  there  is.  Le  Bourget  was  carried  by  assault 
yesterday  forenoon." 

She  sat  down  by  the  table,  nervously  twisting  the 
cloth.  He  took  a  chair  opposite,  resting  his  chin  on 
his  hands. 

"  Jim  was  there,"  he  said,  after  a  silence. 

"  Then— then  he—" 

"  Yes,  he  will  come  back  to  Paris,  because  the  sortie 
has  failed  to  pierce  the  German  lines." 

"  He  should  have  come  back  last  night,"  said  Yo 
lette. 

Bourke  nodded  silently. 


THE   THIRTY-FIRST   OF   OCTOBER.  24$ 

"  And  because  he  has  not  yet  returned  you  are 
worried,"  continued  Yolette.  Her  hand  stole  across 
the  table  and  his  own  tightened  over  it. 

"  He  has  been  delayed — that's  all,"  said  Bourke, 
making  an  effort  to  shake  off  his  depression. 

"  We  will  say  nothing  to  Hilde"  about  it." 

"No,  not  to  Hilde,"  murmured  Bourke. 

Red  Riding  Hood  entered  bearing  the  breakfast 
covers.  Hilde  came  in  a  moment  later  and  looked 
anxiously  at  Bourke. 

He  smiled  cheerily  and  began  to  read  from  the 
morning  paper,  aloud,  how  Monsieur  Thiers,  who  had 
been  trotting  around  all  over  Europe  to  enlist  the 
sympathies  of  the  great  powers  in  behalf  of  France, 
had  just  returned  from  Vienna  and  had  entered  Paris 
with  Bismarck's  kind  permission.  It  seems  that  Mon 
sieur  Thiers  had  sounded  England,  Russia,  Austria 
and  Italy,  and  found  them  in  accord  with  himself  that 
an  armistice  should  suspend  hostilities  for  a  while 
until  a  national  assembly  could  be  convened  and 
terms  of  peace  discussed  with  Bismarck  and  his  senti 
mental  sovereign.  Hilde  scarcely  listened,  Yolette 
nibbled  her  toast  and  tried  to  understand  a  diplomatic 
muddle  that  needed  older  brains  than  hers  to  solve. 

Outside  in  the  street  the  newsboys  were  crying, 
"  Extra  !  Surrender  of  Bazaine  !  Fall  of  Metz  ! 
Terrible  disaster  at  Le  Bourget !  Extra  !  Full  list  of 
the  dead  and  wounded !  "  Bourke  tried  to  keep  Hilde's 
attention  ;  she  smiled  at  him  and  held  out  an  extra 
that  she  had  already  bought  and  devoured. 

"  If  he  was  at  Le  Bourget,"  she  said,  "he  was  not 
hurt.  See  !  Here  are  the  names." 

She  kept  her  eyes  on   Bourke  as  he  read  the  long 


246  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

column  of  dead,  wounded,  and  missing.  When  he  fin 
ished  she  said  : 

"  Will  he  come  back  to  Paris  now  ?  " 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Bourke  cheerily ;  "  Perhaps  the 
Mouse  is  with  him.  Heavens  !  What  a  mess  Trochu 
made  of  it  at  Le  Bourget !  It  seems  that  General 
Bellemare  was  absent  in  Paris  when  the  Prussians  fell 
on  Le  Bourget.  It's  somebody's  fault — that's  clear — 
and  very  safe  to  say,"  he  added,  with  an  attempt  at 
gaiety  that  deceived  no  one. 

Red  Riding  Hood,  who  now  always  held  herself 
straight  as  an  arrow  when  people  spoke  of  soldiers — 
for  had  not  her  father  died  in  uniform  ? — said  in  a 
clear  voice  :  "  If  the  Prussians  are  in  Le  Bourget — are 
we  not  in  Paris?  " 

"  Good  for  you  !  "  said  Bourke,  heartily  ;  "  let  Metz 
fall,  let  Strassbourg  tumble  down,  let  Le  Bourget 
blow  up ;  we  are  in  Paris,  two  young  ladies,  a  young 
man  and  Red  Riding  Hood.  Vive  la  France  !  " 

They  all  smiled  a  little  ;  Bourke  went  out  laughing, 
quite  confident  he  had  dispelled  some  of  the  gloom. 
It  was  raining  again.  He  buttoned  his  overcoat  close 
to  the  throat  and  hurried  away  on  his  daily  visit  to 
the  war-office. 

The  streets  he  traversed  were  filled  with  people,  the 
Place  Saint  Sulpice  was  black  with  a  mob  shouting 
and  gesticulating.  "  Down  with  the  ministry  !  Re 
sign  !  "  It  was  impossible  to  approach  the  war-office ; 
the  Place  de  1'Hotel  de  Ville,  the  square  in  front  of 
the  Louvre,  the  gardens  of  the  Luxembourg  were 
swarming  with  excited  crowds,  indignant  at  the 
ministry's  suggestion  of  an  armistice,  which  they  con 
sidered  preliminary  to  the  surrender  of  Paris — furious 


THE   THIRTY-FIRST   OF   OCTOBER.  247 

at  the  news  from  Metz  and  hysterical  over  the  disaster 
of  Le  Bourget. 

At  eight  o'clock  that  morning  the  carbiniers  had 
marched  into  Paris,  spreading  the  report  that  Le 
Bourget  had  been  betrayed  to  the  Prussians,  that  they 
had  escaped  after  prodigies  of  heroism,  and  that  the 
government  was  responsible  for  everything. 

Bourke,  hoisting  himself  upon  the  railing  of  the 
Luxembourg,  looked  out  over  the  vast  throng  toward 
a  window,  where,  hedged  in  by  the  bayonets  of 
the  carbiniers,  Buckhurst  sat,  pale  and  unmoved,  be 
side  Flourens.  Mortier  had  just  finished  a  venomous 
oration,  and  Flourens,  booted  and  spurred,  had  risen 
and  was  facing  the  mob.  His  handsome  face  grew 
red  with  excitement,  his  gestures  became  more  violent 
as  the  roar  of  approbation  increased.  "  Vive  Flou 
rens  !  Down  with  the  government ! "  The  speech 
was  a  passionate  plea  for  the  Commune  and  a  pledge 
that  the  city  would  never  surrender : 

''What  is  this  senile  ministry  that  it  should  seek 
peace  for  us  who  demand  war  !  war!  war!  What  was 
its  price  when  Metz  was  sold,  when  Le  Bourget  went 
up  in  flames !  The  day  will  come  when  the  govern 
ment  must  answer  to  the  Commune,  and  the  day  of 
atonement  shall  be  terrible  !  " 

The  uproar  was  frightful ;  the  carbiniers  discharged 
their  rifles  in  the  air  and  shouted,  "Vive  la  Com 
mune!"  A  mob  of  National  Guards  cheered  them 
vociferously. 

In  the  midst  of  the  din  Buckhurst  rose.  Slowly  his 
white,  impassive  face  bent  to  meet  the  sea  of  up 
turned  faces  ;  the  drums  were  silenced,  the  explosion 
of  rifles  ceased,  the  harsh  yells  died  away. 


248  ASHES   OF  EMPIRE. 

"The  ministers,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  are  at 
the  Hotel  de  Ville.  The  government  must  resign  ; 
the  Commune  is  proclaimed.  Who  will  follow  me  to 
the  Hotel  de  Ville?" 

There  came  a  thundering  shout,  "  Forward  !  "  The 
throngs  surged,  swung  back,  and  burst  into  cheers  as 
the  carbiniers,  drums  rolling,  bayonets  slanting, 
wheeled  out  into  the  boulevard  Saint  Michel. 

Bourke  followed  the  crowd,  now  almost  entirely 
composed  of  National  Guards,  Mobiles,  Franc-tireurs 
and  swarms  of  ruffians  from  Belleville.  As  they 
marched  they  bellowed  the  "  Carmagnole,"  the  sinister 
blasts  of  the  buglers,  the  startling  crash  of  drums,  the 
trample  and  shouting  combined  in  one  hideous  pan 
demonium  of  deafening  sound.  As  they  poured 
through  the  rue  de  Rivoli  and  flooded  the  square  of 
the  Hotel  de  Ville,  Bourke  saw  General  Trochu  come 
out  on  the  marble  steps  and  wave  back  the  leaders, 
who  were  already  smashing  in  the  iron  gate. 

Buckhurst  ran  up  the  steps  and  faced  the  Governor 
of  Paris.  There  was  a  sharp  exchange  of  words,  a 
menacing  gesture  from  Buckhurst,  then  he  shoved  the 
Governor  aside.  In  a  moment  the  yelling  pack 
swarmed  into  the  splendid  building.  The  ministers 
fled  to  the  Salle  du  Conseil  and  barricaded  the  door. 
Flourens  set  his  carbiniers  to  guard  it.  Buckhurst  let 
the  mob  loose  throughout  the  great  marble  building 
and  the  pillage  began  ;  the  splendid  rooms  were 
looted,  gilded  mirrors  smashed,  furniture  mutilated, 
walls  and  frescoes  torn  to  atoms. 

All  day  long  the  mob  raged  through  the  palace  ; 
the  National  Guards  fired  their  rifles  into  the  master 
pieces  that  adorned  ceiling  and  panel,  the  Mobiles 


THE  THIRTY-FIRST  OF   OCTOBER.  249 

chopped  down  the  rosewood  doors  to  build  fires  with. 
A  carbinier  went  out  and  shot  an  officer's  horse  ;  a 
dozen  Belleville  creatures  cut  it  up,  and  a  feast  began, 
so  nauseating  that  even  Mortier  could  not  endure  it 
and  ordered  the  cuisine  removed  to  the  Chamber  of 
Mirrors.  By  nightfall  half  of  the  insurgents  were  ly 
ing  about  helplessly  drunk.  The  rest  of  the  mob  had 
broken  down  the  doors  of  the  council  chamber  and 
surrounded  the  ministers.  There  they  held  them  pris 
oners,  insulting  them,  threatening  to  shoot  them,  while 
Flourens,  seated  aloft  on  a  table,  arms  akimbo,  alter 
nately  begged  them  to  resign  and  promised  them  death 
unless  they  did.  The  high  bald  head  of  Mortier  loomed 
up  behind  the  speaker's  desk  ;  his  little  diseased  eyes, 
burning  with  insanity,  roamed  restlessly  over  the 
chamber.  Blanqui  arrived  to  gloat  over  the  prisoners; 
Milliere  shouted  that  they  must  resign  and  began  to 
organise  a  revolutionary  government  of  his  own  in  the 
midst  of  howls  and  cheers.  Jules  Favre,  Gamier- 
Pages,  Jules  Simon  ajid  General  Tamisier,  the  Minis 
ter  of  War,  sat  crowded  into  a  corner,  constantly  sub 
jected  to  outrage  and  insult,  and  frequently  covered 
by  the  levelled  rifles  of  the  carbiniers. 

To  Bourke  the  situation  seemed  a  nightmare  too 
absurd,  too  grotesque,  to  credit.  The  government  of 
Paris  was  held  prisoner  by  a  mob  of  anarchists ;  the 
city  itself  was  besieged  by  the  enemy.  War  without, 
revolution  within.  What  would  happen  in  twenty- 
four  hours — time  enough  for  any  one  of  the  hundreds 
of  German  spies  to  carry  the  news  to  Bismarck. 

As  Bourke  stood  there  in  the  shattered  hall,  half 
stifled  with  the  vile  atmosphere,  crowded,  pushed, 
shoved  and  cursed  by  drunken  carbiniers  and  Belleville 


250  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

ruffians,  a  thought  came  to  him  that  if  General  Trochu 
had  a  messenger,  something  might  be  done.  He 
looked  across  at  the  General,  hoping  to  catch  his  eye. 
After  a  moment,  however,  he  met  the  gloomy  gaze  of 
Jules  Favre,  and,  without  a  moment's  hesitation-, 
stepped  up  beside  him. 

"Quick!"  he  said,  "Can  I  carry  any  message  for 
you  ?  I  am  an  American  correspondent.  Don't  look 
at  me  when  you  answer." 

"There  is  a  battalion  of  Breton  Mobiles  at  the 
Napoleon  barracks.  They  are  loyal.  The  barracks 
connect  with  the  Hotel  de  Ville  by  an  underground 
tunnel."  Jules  Favre  spoke  in  a  quiet  voice,  looking 
out  of  the  window  as  he  spoke,  his  back  turned  to 
Bourke.  The  young  man  heard  every  word.  He 
dared  not  answer ;  he  lingered  a  moment,  gazing 
about  with  pretended  curiosity  at  the  wrecked  cham 
ber,  then  slowly  turned  and  started  toward  the  door. 
As  he  was  passing  out,  somebody  touched  his  sleeve. 
He  looked  up.  Buckhurst  stood  beside  him.  Bourke 
stepped  back. 

Buckhurst  cocked  his  revolver.  All  eyes  were  fixed 
on  the  two. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  said  Buckhurst,  in  his 
placid  voice. 

"  About  my  business,"  replied  Bourke,  steadily. 

Buckhurst's  pale  eyes  contracted ;  a  spasm  twitched 
the  muscles  of  his  clean-cut  jaw.  It  was  his  way  of 
laughing. 

"  Get  back  there,"  he  said,  placing  the  tip  of  one 
slim  finger  on  Bourke's  breast.  "  I  know  you  and 
your  friend  Harewood." 

"And   I  know   you,"  said  Bourke,  coolly.     As  he 


THE   THIRTY-FIRST   OF   OCTOBER.  251 

spoke  he  saw  he  had  made  a  mistake.  If  ever  a  face 
expressed  murder,  Burkhurst's  face  at  that  moment 
meant  it.  His  colourless  eyes  blazed,  his  thin  lips 
scarcely  parted  as  he  said  :  "  You  will  know  me  better 
presently." 

Flourens,  standing  on  a  marble  table,  bent  nearer  to 
listen  ;  Mortier's  deformed  head  craned  up  over  his 
desk  with  evil  eagerness.  A  carbinier  suddenly  struck 
Bourke  with  the  butt  of  his  rifle  full  in  the  chest  and 
sent  him  reeling  back  against  the  wall.  General 
Trochu  sprang  forward  to  interpose,  Jules  Favre  tried 
to  force  his  way  to  Bourke's  side,  but  the  carbiniers 
thrust  them  back  savagely. 

"  That  man  is  a  government  spy,"  said  Buckhurst. 
"  He  has  watched  us  at  the  Undertakers,  now  he  comes 
here  with  secret  intelligence  for  Monsieur  Favre." 

"  It  is  a  mistake,"  began  Jules  Favre,  haughtily, 
but  was  sternly  silenced  by  Flourens. 

"What  do  we  do  with  spies?"  suggested  Buck- 
hurst,  looking  up  at  Mortier  and  raising  his  revolver 
significantly. 

A  carbinier  beside  him  made  a  lunge  with  his  bay 
onet  at  Bourke.  The  blow  failed  to  reach  him  be 
cause  Buckhurst  gave  the  fellow  a  violent  push. 

"Don't  be  too  zealous,  my  friend,"  he  sneered;  "it 
will  be  more  amusing  in  my  way." 

Bourke,  breathing  heavily  from  the  blow  on  the 
chest,  stood  with  his  back  to  the  wall,  glaring  at  Buck 
hurst.  "You  damned  cutthroat!  "  he  said,  "you  ran 
away  from  America  to  save  your  neck !  You're  a 
thief,  a  forger,  a  murderer  and  a  communist,  but  you 
dare  not  lay  your  hands  on  an  American  citizen  in 
Paris !  " 


252  ASHES  OF  EMPIRE. 

"  If  that  young  man  is  an  American  citizen,  be  care 
ful,"  cried  Flourens,  dramatically. 

"  I'm  responsible  for  my  acts ! "  said  Buckhurst, 
white  with  fury.  "  Send  for  Captain  StaufTer  and  a 
file  of  men  !  " 

"  Captain  StaufTer  is  a  German  spy  !  "  said  Bourke. 
"  If  there  is  a  Frenchman  in  this  hall  he  will  arrest 
him  for  treason." 

Mortier,  at  the  word  "  treason,"  began  to  sniff  like  a 
vulture.  His  hideous  long  neck,  swathed  in  a  dirty 
red  handkerchief,  twisted  and  writhed  ;  his  little  green 
eyes  were  like  two  points  of  flame. 

"  If  citizen  StaufTer  is  accused  he  must  answer  be 
fore  this  tribunal,"  he  said. 

Flourens  struck  his  fist  against  his  sword  hilt,  and 
shouted,  "  All  accusations  shall  be  answered  before 
me  !  Bring  the  prisoner  here  !  " 

At  that  moment  StaufTer  pushed  into  the  room  at 
the  head  of  a  file  of  carbiniers.  The  tumult  increased 
as  the  soldiers  cleared  a  space  around  Flourens  and 
Buckhurst,  and  dragged  Bourke  before  the  table  where 
Mortier  sat,  his  grotesque  head  thrust  forward,  his 
great  hairy  hands  gripping  the  edges  of  the  table.  In 
the  midst  of  the  confusion  Buckhurst  paced  up  and 
down,  cold  eyes  never  leaving  Bourke,  revolver  swing 
ing  in  one  hand.  Bourke,  a  little  unnerved,  was 
speaking  to  Flourens,  glancing  from  time  to  time  at 
StaufTer,  who  now  recognised  him,  and  honoured  him 
with  scowls  of  hatred. 

"Your  suspicions  are  nothing,"  said  Flourens,  vi 
olently  ;  "  what  evidence  have  you  ?  " 

Bourke  was  silent. 

Buckhurst  began  to  speak  again  in  a  measured, 
passionless  voice  : 


THE  THIRTY-FIRST   OF   OCTOBER.  253 

"  The  prisoner  charges  me  with  crime ;  he  charges 
Captain  Stauffer  with  treason.  I  charge  him  with 
being  a  spy,  and  this  is  my  evidence.  I  saw  him  at 
the  Undertakers,  and  I  saw  him  a  moment  ago  se 
cretly  approach  Monsieur  Jules  Favre,  deliver  a  mes 
sage,  receive  one,  and  attempt  to  leave  the  council 
chamber.  Let  him  deny  it." 

"  Do  you  deny  it  ?  "  croaked  Mortier,  clutching  the 
table  harder. 

Bourke  looked  at  Buckhurst ;  that  look  was  enough. 
All  his  nerve  came  back  to  him  ;  the  flush  that  had 
left  his  cheeks  returned.  He  drew  himself  up  and 
turned  to  Flourens.  "  That  criminal,"  he  said,  "  is 
determined  on  my  murder.  If  you  can  save  me,  you 
must  speak  now."  But  Flourens  walked  away  with 
out  an  answer,  and  Mortier  caught  Bourke's  arm  in  an 
iron  grip.  "  March  !  "  said  Buckhurst  placidly. 

Mortier  passed  first  with  his  prisoner,  Stauffer  fol 
lowed  heading  a  file  of  carbiniers  ;  Buckhurst  brought 
up  the  rear,  revolver  poised. 

They  had  decided  to  shoot  him  in  the  court,  but 
the  railings  were  already  torn  down,  and  the  crowd 
covered  every  inch  of  pavement.  To  get  through 
with  their  prisoner  was  not  possible  ;  besides,  they 
were  doubtful  of  the  temper  of  the  crowd.  Mortier 
said  that  the  safest  plan  was  to  shoot  him  in  the  un 
derground  portion  of  the  palace  ;  Buckhurst  agreed, 
and  the  cortege  took  up  its  march.  Flight  after  flight 
of  steps  were  passed  ;  the  roar  of  the  pillaging  mob 
above  grew  fainter  and  fainter.  Stauffer  found  lan 
terns,  and  they  entered  that  dim  system  of  vaulted 
chambers  and  passages  that  leads  to  the  secret  cat 
acombs  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville, 


254  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

There  was  a  vast  underground  hall,  lighted  by 
double  rows  of  lamps,  and  littered  with  packets  of 
documents,  printed  forms  and  musty  papers,  later  to 
be  sorted  and  arranged  for  the  archives  of  the  city  of 
Paris.  The  huissiersin  charge  rose  in  a  body,  protest 
ing,  as  Buckhurst  and  his  soldiers  entered.  "  Non 
sense,"  said  Buckhurst,  "  we  only  want  to  shoot  a 
man.  Don't  let  us  disturb  you,  gentlemen.  Pray 
keep  your  seats."  Then  he  sat  down  at  one  of  the 
long  tables,  laid  his  revolver  beside  him,  motioned 
Mortier  and  Stauffer  to  withdraw  with  their  men,  and 
beckoned  Bourke  to  sit  in  front  of  him. 

Bourke  listened  to  the  footsteps  of  the  carbiniers  as 
they  retreated  into  the  adjoining  chamber.  He  looked 
at  the  huissiers,  who  gazed  back  at  him,  fascinated  by 
the  sight  of  a  condemned  man.  Even  when  Buck 
hurst  had  begun  to  speak,  Bourke  scarcely  heard  him. 
The  despair  of  his  position,  the  healthy  and  natural 
horror  of  death  occupied  his.  thoughts.  He  could  not 
realise  that  he  was  about  to  die — he  could  not  believe 
it,  and  when  he  noticed  that  Buckhurst  was  speaking, 
he  listened  without  understanding.  Buckhurst  was 
talking  of  himself.  For  now  the  dominating  trait  of 
most  criminals  was  revealed  in  Buckhurst :  that  trait 
is  vanity.  Keen,  shrewd,  merciless,  daring,  he  was  not 
above  the  weakness  of  vanity,  although  he  was  too 
reticent,  too  shrewd,  to  exhibit  it  to  any  human  being 
who  might  live  to  reproach  him  with  his  weakness. 
But  now  it  was  different ;  this  man  was  about  to  die — 
if  necessary,  by  Buckhurst's  own  hand.  So  Buckhurst 
blabbed  and  babbled  on  about  his  crimes.  He  eagerly 
owned  up  to  robbery  and  forgery  ;  he  claimed  as  his 
own  a  notorious  murder,  long  wrapped  in  mystery. 


THE   THIRTY-FIRST    OF   OCTOBER.  255 

By  degrees  he  grew  confidential,  speaking  in  the  easy 
slang  of  the  period.  He  became  reminiscent,  even 
sentimental,  about  New  York.  Then,  suddenly  chang 
ing,  his  pale  eyes  gleamed  with  a  ferocity  indescribable 
as  he  spoke  of  his  prison  days,  his  jailors,  and  his  hope 
that  their  reckoning  would  come.  He  boasted  of  wo 
men,  of  conquests  made,  of  deceptions  practised.  At 
times  the  spasm  which  served  him  for  laughter  twitched 
his  pallid  face. 

Once  Bourke  asked  him  if  he  would  let  him  go  for 
money,  but  the  ghastly  smile  on  Buckhurst's  face  was 
answer  enough.  "  No,"  said  Buckhurst,  "  you  know 
too  much,  you  knew  too  much  before — and  now  you 
know  I'm  a  damned  fool  besides."  He  rose  abruptly 
and  went  into  the  passageway  where  Mortier,  Stauffer 
and  the  carbiniers  were  waiting.  The  carbiniers  had 
found  a  wine-bin  and  were  rifling  it,  and  cracking  the 
necks  of  the  municipal  claret  bottles.  They  objected 
to  leaving  off,  and  Buckhurst  strode  into  the  passage, 
revolver  raised. 

In  an  instant  Bourke  turned  to  the  huissiers  who 
stood  grouped  behind  him,  and  said  hurriedly  :  "  One 
of  you  run  to  the  Breton  Mobiles  in  the  Napoleon  bar 
racks  and  bring  them  by  the  underground  passage. 
Hurry,  or  they  will  murder  the  ministers  as  they  are 
going  to  murder  me  !  "  The  huissiers  hesitated,  then, 
as  Buckhurst's  voice  was  heard  in  the  passage,  one  of 
them  opened  a  door  behind  the  table  where  Bourke 
was  sitting  and  pointed.  Bourke  jumped  for  the  door 
and  ran  as  he  had  never  run  in  his  life.  Twice,  as  he 
ran,  between  unseen  walls,  holding  his  arm  before 
him,  he  fell,  but  sprang  up  again  and  plunged  on,  his 
hands  before  his  face.  How  long  he  had  been  running 


256  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

he  did  not  know,  when,  rounding  a  corner,  he  saw  a 
light  ahead.  The  floor  of  the  passage  became  visible, 
the  rough  stone  walls,  the  ceiling.  Little  by  little  the 
passage  ascended,  growing  lighter  and  lighter  as  he 
advanced,  until  he  staggered  out  into  a  stone-paved 
court,  where  soldiers  were  passing  carrying  pails  and 
kitchen  utensils,  and  an  officer,  mounted  on  a  horse, 
stood  looking  on. 

He  stammered  out  his  tale  to  the  officer,  and  he  had 
not  finished  before  the  bugles  were  sounding  the  as 
sembly,  and  the  officers  were  shouting,  and  the  brave 
Breton  Mobiles  came  tumbling  into  the  parade.  In 
ten  minutes  they  were  entering  the  tunnel ;  their  offi 
cers  could  not  hold  them  back.  Bourke,  carried  away 
with  the  onset,  held  tightly  to  a  lantern  that  some 
body  thrust  into  his  hand,  and  hurried  along  with  the 
soldiers,  who  even  wounded  each  other  with  their  bay 
onets  in  their  eagerness  to  be  in  at  the  death. 

And  they  were  in  at  the  death,  for,  even  when 
Bourke  entered  the  underground  hall,  they  had  a 
dozen  half-drunken  carbiniers  by  the  throat.  Buck- 
hurst  had  vanished,  so  also  had  Mortier  and  Stauffer. 
Bourke  led  the  way  to  the  council  chamber  above ; 
the  stairs  were  stormed,  the  halls  carried  by  the  bay 
onet.  He  saw  the  Mobiles  burst  into  the  council 
chamber,  hurl  the  insurgents  out,  and  beat  them  with 
clubbed  rifles  until  they  howled  for  mercy.  He  saw 
the  pale-faced  ministers  withdraw,  protected  by  the 
bayonets  of  the  brave  Bretons ;  he  witnessed  the 
stampede  of  Flourens  and  his  cohorts — a  flight  as  ridic 
ulous  as  it  was  precipitate. 

Outside  in  the  rain  an  enormous  crowd  stood  and 
watched  the  fight  in  the  palace.  Night  had  fallen 


THE  THIRTY-FIRST   OF   OCTOBER.  257 

swiftly,  and,  in  the  frightful  uproar  and  confusion,  the 
insurgents  escaped  with  broken  heads,  Flourens, 
Stauffer,  Buckhurst  and  Mortier  among  them.  But 
the  Bretons  had  some  hundred  or  so  of  the  carbiniers 
prisoners,  and  now,  as  other  loyal  battalions  began  to 
arrive,  the  ministers  left  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  where 
what  once  threatened  to  be  a  brutal  massacre  had 
turned  into  a  farce  as  grotesque  as  it  was  unexpected. 

Bourke  pushed  his  way  out  into  the  crowd.  There 
were  no  street  lamps  lighted  ;  a  few  of  the  cavalry, 
escorting  General  Ducrot,  who  arrived  on  the  scene, 
carried  torches,  with  the  long  butts  resting  in  their 
stirrups,  but  the  darkness  seemed  denser  for  the 
scattered  lights,  and  Bourke  was  glad  of  the  lantern 
he  still  held,  to  guide  himself  across  the  bridge  and 
through  dusky  alleys  toward  the  boulevard  Saint 
Michel.  As  he  stopped  at  the  Caf£  Cardinal  to  swal 
low  a  little  brandy,  he  heard  a  soldier  say  that  a  com 
pany  of  carbiniers  under  Captain  Speyer  had  sacked  a 
house  on  the  ramparts  during  the  riot  at  the  Hotel  de 
Ville. 

"  What  house?  "  asked  Bourke,  pushing  through  the 
group  that  surrounded  the  soldier. 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  the  cavalryman ;  "  it  was 
somewhere  on  the  rue  d'Ypres."  He  added  mischiev 
ously,  "  You  needn't  look  so  frightened,  my  friend— 
unless  it  was  your  house.  Hey  !  Wait !  Sacr£  nom 
d'une  pipe  ! — take  a  drink  with  us,  comrade — " 

But  Bourke  had  already  vanished. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

BOURKE   DOES  WHAT   HE   CAN. 

IT  was  pitch  dark  when  Bourke  reached  the  rue 
d'Ypres,  but  the  red  glare  of  torches  lighted  up  the 
ramparts,  and  cast  lurid  reflections  across  the  fronts 
of  the  shadowy  houses  opposite.  A  constantly  in 
creasing  crowd  of  people  surrounded  his  house.  He 
hastened  on,  pushing,  struggling,  forcing  a  path  through 
the  throng  to  his  own  door.  The  flare  of  petroleum 
torches  fell  red  on  scores  of  sombre  faces.  He  saw 
Yolette  near  the  doorstep,  surrounded  by  half-a-dozen 
men,  some  of  whom  he  recognised  as  neighbours. 
When  Yolette  heard  Bourke's  voice,  she  took  one  un 
certain  step  forward.  The  next  moment  her  white, 
frightened  face  was  hidden  on  his  shoulder. 

"What  is  it?"  he  said.  "Speak  to  me,  Yolette ! 
Don't  tremble  so.  See,  you  are  safe  !  Nothing  can 
harm  you,  my  darling!  " 

Somebody  in  the  crowd  said  :  "  It's  her  sister.  She 
can't  be  found." 

"Hilde!"  gasped  Bourke. 

The  same  voice  spoke  again :  "  The  carbiniers 
sacked  the  house.  There  was  nobody  there  except 
Mademoiselle  Hild<§  and  the  little  servant." 

Yolette  trembled  violently  and  raised  her  head. 

"  I   had  gone  to  the  butcher's  to  have  our  rations 


BOURKE   DOES   WHAT   HE  CAN.  259 

renewed,"  she  said ;  "  when  I  returned  they — they 
had  done  this.  I  cannot  find  Hilde." 

"  I  saw  them,"  said  a  man  in  a  blue  blouse.  "  I 
heard  people  say  that  there  was  a  revolution  at  the 
Hotel  de  Ville  and  that  we  were  to  have  the  Com 
mune.  Many  of  us  started  for  the  Cite — we  numbered 
perhaps  fifty — when,  sapristi,  the  bayonets  of  the  car 
biniers  filled  the  streets — two  companies,  monsieur, 
with  drums  and  bugles  sounding,  and  their  Captain 
Speyer  shouting  to  us  to  get  back.  Then  the  artillery 
men  yonder,  who  were  exercising  with  the  Prophet, 
came  over  the  street  to  see  what  the  carbiniers  were 
doing,  but  their  Captain  Speyer  waved  an  order  from 
the  Hotel  de  Ville — so,  monsieur,  there  was  nothing  to 
do." 

The  man  spoke  cautiously,  appealing  to  the  crowd 
to  corroborate  him.  Bourke,  his  arm  aroundj  Yolette, 
who  seemed  too  dazed  to  understand,  listened  with  a 
sick  fear  at  his  heart,  eyes  helplessly  roaming  through 
the  throng  of  eager,  sympathetic  faces  that  pressed  on 
every  side. 

The  spokesman  of  the  group  wiped  his  face  on  his 
sleeve,  shrugged,  and  continued  : 

"  Dame,  it  was  soon  finished.  Speyer  went  into 
the  house.  Somebody  said  he  had  a  mandate  of  ar 
rest  for  you  and  also  for  Monsieur  Harewood.  A  car 
binier  told  me  that  the  Commune  was  proclaimed  and 
that  your  house  was  to  be  reserved  for  the  carbiniers' 
headquarters.  He  added  that  you  and  Monsieur  Hare- 
wood  were  known  as  suspects  of  the  Commune  and 
that  they  would  catch  you  sooner  or  later.  Then, 
monsieur,  they  began  to  bring  out  your  papers  and 
portfolios.  These  they  placed  in  an  ambulance,  along 


260  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

with  books  and  clothing  and  some  cans  of  preserved 
meat.  It  was  then,  for  the  first  time,  that  I,  standing 
in  the  crowd  behind  the  row  of  bayonets,  saw  Mad 
emoiselle  Hilde  in  the  hallway  among  all  those  ban 
dits.  What  happened  after  that  I  cannot  say,  for 
there  came  a  soldier  galloping  who  cried:  'Treason! 
We  are  betrayed  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville!'— and  the 
carbiniers  ran  out  of  the  house  like  rats — this  way  and 
that  way,  until  their  Captain  Speyer  shouted  for  them 
to  charge  and  drive  back  the  crowd."  The  man 
paused  and  added  :  "  After  that,  monsieur,  we  ran  for 
our  lives,  and  that  is  all  I  know." 

Bourke  cast  one  glance  around  the  crowd  at  the 
door,  beckoned  to  the  spokesman,  whose  name  was 
Maillard,  and  who,  in  days  of  plenty,  had  supplied 
the  street  with  bread — then  he  led  Yolette  into  the 
house,  motioning  Maillard  to  follow.  Yolette  sank 
on  the  sofa,  stunned,  unable  yet  to  comprehend  the 
catastrophe.  Maillard  stood,  hat  in  one  hand,  holding 
a  petroleum  torch  in  the  other.  The  thick  stench  of 
the  oil  filled  the  dismantled  room.  The  floor  was  lit 
tered  with  table  linen,  kitchen  utensils  and  overturned 
furniture.  In  every  corner  lay  heaps  of  curtains,  bed 
clothes  and  towels,  tied  up  for  removal  when  the  car 
biniers  had  been  interrupted  in  their  work  by  the 
news  from  the  Hotel  de  Ville. 

"  Yolette,"  said  Bourke,  gently,  "where  is  Red  Rid 
ing  Hood  ?  Was  she  with  Hild£  when  you  left  for 
the  butcher's?  " 

Yolette's  pallid  lips  motioned,  "  Yes." 

With  an  effort,  Bourke  spoke  again. 

"  Will  you  stay  here  quietly  with  Monsieur  Maillard 
until  I  come  back?  I  am  going  to  find  Hilde",  dear. 


BOURKE   DOES   WHAT   HE  CAN.  26l 

We  will  find  her  very  soon  ;  I  shall  go  to  the  Gov 
ernor  of  Paris  at  once,  and  he  will  get  her  back." 

To  Maillard  he  said  :  "  Get  your  wife  to  come  and 
stay  here  ;  I  may  be  gone  until  morning.  God  knows 
whether  there  is  authority  enough  in  Paris  to-night  to 
punish  this  outrage,  but  if  there  isn't,  I'll  try  it  alone." 

As  he  passed  into  the  street,  not  daring  to  linger, 
not  daring  to  look  at  Yolette,  he  saw  Maillard's  young 
wife  in  the  crowd  that  still  waited  around  the  door. 

"  Go  in,"  he  said  ;  "  tell  Mademoiselle  Yolette  that 
her  sister  will  be  safe,  and  that  she  will  soon  have  her 
again." 

To  the  people  who  looked  at  him  with  wistful, 
kindly  eyes,  he  said  : 

''This  helpless  girl  is  your  neighbour.  I  leave  the 
house  in  your  keeping.  Do  what  you  can." 

Before  he  turned  into  the  city,  he  crossed  the  street 
to  the  bomb-proofs,  where  the  officer  of  the  gun-squad 
met  him  with  an  anxious  shake  of  the  head. 

"  Not  a  word,  not  a  word,  Monsieur  Bourke  !  I  am 
overwhelmed  with  this  terrible  thing.  They  showed 
me  a  forged  order  from  General  Trochu  ;  I  could  only 
fold  my  arms  and  let  those  brigands  search  your 
house.  Now  they  tell  me  that  the  government  still 
exists,  that  the  Commune  is  routed,  that  the  revolu 
tion  is  ended.  I  only  wish  I  had  known  it  sooner ! 
And  is  it  true  that  they  carried  off  Mademoiselle 
HildeChalais?" 

"Yes,"  said  Bourke,  quietly  ;  "it  was  their  Captain 
Speyer  who  did  that.  Monsieur,  will  you  place  a 
sentry  at  my  door?  I  am  going  to  see  the  Governor 
of  Paris." 

"  I  will  do  so  at  once,  monsieur,"  said  the  gun  cap- 


262  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

tain.  They  saluted  each  other,  and,  as  Bourke  hurried 
on,  he  heard  the  order  given,  the  trample  of  a  file  and 
the  double  jar  of  grounded  rifles  on  the  ramparts. 

It  was  midnight  when  Bourke  was  ushered  into  the 
presence  of  General  Trochu,  Governor  of  Paris ;  it 
was  one  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  he  went  out  into 
the  street,  stunned  by  the  shameful  avowal  that  the 
government  was  without  authority  in  the  distracted 
city  and  that  the  general  in  chief  of  the  armies  of 
Paris  was  unable  to  aid  him  to  rescue  Hild£  from  the 
insurgent  carbiniers.  News  had  arrived  that  Flourens 
and  his  legion,  retreating  from  the  fiasco  at  the  Hotel 
de  Ville,  had  seized  and  barricaded  the  church  of  Me- 
nilmontant ;  that  Belleville  was  a  seething  cauldron  of 
revolution  ;  that  the  whole  quarter  was  preparing  to 
rise  en  masse  and  hurl  themselves  again  on  the  Hotel 
de  Ville. 

During  his  interview  with  General  Trochu,  Bourke 
saw  the  stream  of  staff  officers  constantly  arriving 
with  bad  news  from  Belleville,  and  leaving  with  ur 
gent  instructions  to  General  Ducrot,  commanding  the 
only  reliable  and  efficient  corps  in  Paris. 

General  Trochu,  head  bent  on  his  medalled  breast, 
hands  nervously  clasped  behind  him,  accompanied 
Bourke  to  the  door  of  his  cabinet. 

"  I  am  sorry,  monsieur  ;  believe  me,  I  am  covered 
with  shame  to  confess  my  helplessness  at  this  mo 
ment,"  he  said.  "  But  I  can  do  nothing  yet,  abso 
lutely  nothing,  until  the  revolt  is  stamped  out.  And," 
he  added,  sadly,  "  this  revolt  may  cost  France  dear. 
Our  negotiations  with  Monsieur  Bismarck  were  going 
well,  but  no  sooner  did  he  hear  of  this  riot  in  Paris 
than  he  abruptly  broke  off  all  negotiations  in  which 


BOURKE   DOES   WHAT   HE  CAN.  263 

we  could  honourably  participate.  You  see,  he  believes 
his  allies  are  here  in  Paris,  and  that  we,  once  embroiled 
in  the  horrors  of  civil  strife,  will  fall  easy  victims  to 
the  German  armies." 

"  Then,"  said  Bourke,  despairingly,  "  the  Governor 
of  Paris  can  offer  me  no  aid  in  arresting  the  so-called 
Captain  Speyer?  " 

"  It  is  impossible,"  said  General  Trochu,  with  red 
dening  face  lowered  in  mortification.  "  I  am  responsi 
ble  before  God  for  the  defense  of  this  city ;  I  dare  not 
provoke  an  open  conflict  with  these  insurgents,  under 
the  muzzles  of  the  Prussians'  guns." 

Bourke  bowed ;  the  anxious  Governor  of  Paris  re 
turned  his  salute  in  silence.  Then  an  orderly  con 
ducted  Bourke  to  the  street,  the  great  doors  closed, 
and  he  walked  out  into  the  darkness,  utterly  discour 
aged. 

It  was  not  yet  dawn  when  he  entered  the  house  on 
the  ramparts.  The  sentinel  saluted  him  gravely,  and 
asked  what  news  there  was.  At  Bourke's  answer  he 
shook  his  fist  and  swore  that  the  day  should  come 
when  Belleville  would  be  summoned  to  a  bloody  ac 
counting. 

Yolette's  terror  and  grief,  when  she  saw  Bourke  en 
ter  alone,  completely  unnerved  him.  The  terrible 
fatigue  of  the  day,  the  strain,  the  shock  he  himself 
had  undergone  when  Buckhurst  arrested  him  at  the 
Hotel  de  Ville,  and  the  constant  haunting  fear  for 
Harewood,  tortured  him  till  his  aching  head  seemed 
ready  to  burst.  He  had  eaten  nothing  since  break 
fast.  Maillard  brought  him  a  basin  of  hot  soup  and  a 
bit  of  bread. 

When  he  finished,  he  rose  unsteadily  and  went  to 


264  ASHES    OF   EMPIRE. 

the  door.  Dawn  had  scarcely  begun — a  horrible,  yel 
low  light  crept  out  of  the  horizon,  dulling  the  lamps 
on  the  bastions,  tipping  the  bronze  muzzle  of  the 
Prophet,  touching  the  surface  of  the  road  puddles  with 
sickly  reflections. 

Scarcely  knowing  where  he  was  going,  he  started 
out  again,  stumbling  through  the  rank,  dead  grass  of 
the  glacis  toward  the  Porte  Rouge.  The  gate  was 
closed,  but  from  the  ramparts  he  looked  off  over  the 
desolate  landscape  to  the  south.  And,  as  he  looked,  a 
shaft  of  flame  shot  out  of  the  hazy  half  light ;  another 
and  another,  and  the  hollow  booming  of  cannon  filled 
his  ears.  The  forts  of  the  south  were  awaking;  the 
game  of  death  had  begun  again. 

He  sat  down  on  the  crisp,  dead  grass  of  the  talus, 
aching  head  clasped  in  his  hands.  To  think  of  Hilde" 
in  the  clutches  of  Speyer  and  Buckhurst  almost  drove 
him  mad.  He  shrank  from  going  back  to  Yolette ;  he 
could  not  bear  to  see  her  grief.  He  thought  of  Hare- 
wood  ;  how  could  he  face  him  when  he  returned  ? 
One  thing  he  realised — that  he  must  make  an  effort  to 
find  Hild£  at  once,  whatever  happened  to  the  govern 
ment  in  the  meantime.  The  American  Minister  could 
not  aid  him,  for  there  was  no  responsible  authority  to 
apply  to  in  Paris  except  General  Trochu,  and  Bourke 
had  already  seen  enough  of  that  official. 

Suppose  he  should  go  to  Belleville?  It  was  not  yet 
daylight.  Perhaps  dawn  would  be  the  safest  time  to 
venture  through  that  quarter;  anarchists  and  kindred 
ruffians  prowl  late  and  sleep  late.  He  rose  to  his  feet 
and  looked  out  across  the  dim  city.  Far  away  in  the 
north  he  saw  the  sombre  profile  of  Montmartre  and  the 
heights  of  the  Buttes  Chaumont.  Before  he  started, 


BOURKE   DOES   WHAT   HE  CAN.  265 

he  went  back  to  the  house  and  took  a  revolver  from 
Harewood's  dismantled  desk.  Then  he  went  noise 
lessly  down  the  stairs  again  and  hastened  out  into  the 
city.  There  was  nobody  afoot  in  the  streets  but  him 
self. 

He  went  by  the  way  of  the  Luxembourg  and  the 
boulevard  Saint  Michel.  In  the  gardens  of  the  Lux 
embourg  he  saw  lights  moving,  where  Sisters  of  Mercy 
were  passing  among  the  wounded,  who  lay  in  the 
temporary  hospital  behind  the  palace.  As  he  passed 
the  river,  the  gunboats,  one  by  one,  battle  lanterns 
set,  swung  noiselessly  below  at  their  moorings,  sinister, 
shadowy  bulks  on  the  dark  tide. 

He  noticed  the  absence  of  life  on  the  boulevard. 
There  were  no  early  vehicles,  no  market  wagons,  no 
omnibuses,  no  pedestrians.  Even  the  sparrows  had 
vanished  ;  nothing  of  life  awoke  with  dawn  ;  the  si 
lence  was  absolute,  save  for  the  deadened,  measured 
booming  of  the  guns  in  the  southern  forts.  That,  too, 
was  inaudible  when  he  turned  into  the  ancient  Fau 
bourg  du  Temple  and  began  the  ascent  of  the  silent, 
foul,  greasy  streets  that  marked  the  beginning  of  the 
revolutionary  zone. 

On  high  mountains  the  vegetation  limit  is  sharply 
marked  by  stunted  growth,  then  rocks. 

On  Mount  Aventin  the  vegetating  growth  of  anarchy 
was  marked  by  filth.  The  streets  reeked  with  it,  the 
unutterably  foul  canal  Saint  Martin  ran  filth,  the  very 
balconies  sweated  it  as  the  evil  grey  mist  lifted  above 
the  canal,  higher,  higher,  exposing  the  mean,  naked, 
treeless  streets  that  twisted  and  coiled  round  and 
round  the  heights  where,  crowned  and  enthroned,  sat 
anarchy,  hatching  murder. 


266  ASHES   OF  EMPIRE. 

The  first  faint  flicker  of  daylight  that  had  been 
struggling  through  the  mist  died  out  under  a  sudden 
burst  of  rain.  The  streets  grew  darker  again ;  the  rain 
raged  furiously  for  a  minute  or  two,  then  changed  to 
a  thick  drizzle. 

There  were  no  street  lamps  lighted  with  petroleum, 
there  was  not  a  flicker  of  light  from  the  long,  grisly 
rows  of  houses,  but  he  knew  his  way,  and  he  found  it, 
even  in  the  darkest  alleys,  even  through  dank  passages 
that  reeked  like  the  hold  of  a  pest  ship. 

And  at  last  he  came  to  the  church  of  Menilmontant. 
Almost  at  once  he  saw  what  had  been  done  by  the  in 
surgents.  The  statement  of  General  Trochu  had  led 
him  to  believe  that  the  church  had  been  turned  into  a 
fortress  and  strongly  barricaded.  The  truth  was  that 
almost  nothing  had  been  accomplished  toward  fortify 
ing  Menilmontant.  Across  the  street  stood  a  ram 
bling,  partly  finished  barricade  of  paving-stones.  Two 
houses  had  been  converted  into  barracks  for  the  car 
biniers  ;  this  was  patent  to  anybody,  partly  because 
of  the  two  empty  sentry  boxes  before  each  house, 
partly  on  account  of  a  strip  of  canvas  nailed  across 
the  front  of  the  two  houses,  on  which  was  painted : 

"CASERNE   DE   LA  COMMUNE." 


On  the  church  a  similar  strip  of  rain-soaked  canvas 
hung,  bearing  the  legend  : 


" AMBULANCE 
HEADQUARTERS." 


BOURKE   DOES   WHAT   HE  CAN.  267 

and  a  red  flag,  that  the  rain  had  soaked  almost  black, 
hung  from  the  church  door  to  the  steps. 

There  was  not  a  soul  to  be  seen  at  the  barricade  ; 
the  sentry  boxes  protected  no  sentinels  ;  the  church 
was  dark  and  silent. 

Bourke  crept  forward  and  mounted  the  barricade. 
He  walked  along  the  top  to  where  it  crossed  the  side 
walk.  Here  the  wall  of  paving-stones  was  higher ;  he 
could  lift  himself  into  the  balcony  of  the  house 
against  which  the  barricade  ended.  This  he  did  cau 
tiously,  then  crouched  there,  watching  a  lantern  that 
somebody  in  the  house  had  lighted. 

The  lantern  swung  to  and  fro ;  somebody  was  mov 
ing  down  stairs  ;  a  shadow  fell  across  the  threshold, 
and  a  figure  stepped  into  the  street.  By  the  light  of 
the  lantern  he  could  see  the  uniform — the  crimson  re 
verses,  the  gilded  shoulder  knots  laced  with  scarlet, 
that  indicated  an  officer  of  rank  in  the  carbiniers. 

The  officer  stood  a  moment  inspecting  the  barricade 
by  the  flickering  lantern  light,  then  turned,  and,  cross 
ing  the  street,  entered  the  church. 

It  was  Speyer. 

Bourke  waited  a  moment  before  he  rose  from  the 
balcony.  He  had  no  plan,  no  idea.  What  to  do, 
now  that  he  had  crept  into  the  hornets'  nest,  was  a 
problem  too  intricate  for  him.  And  as  he  crouched 
there,  hesitating,  something  in  the  open  window  be 
hind  him  caught  his  eye — a  dark  mass  huddled  above 
the  window  ledge.  Then,  to  his  horror,  he  saw  eyes 
watching  him  in  the  shadow — and  the  shadow  itself 
seemed  to  expand  and  glide  toward  him.  Quick  as 
thought  he  had  his  revolver  levelled  ;  there  came  a 
gasp,  a  sudden  movement,  and  a  man  leaped  softly 


268  ASHES   OF  EMPIRE. 

into  the  balcony,  whispering,  "  Don't  shoot,  comrade, 
it's  all  right." 

Before  Bourke  could  understand,  another  figure 
climbed  out  of  the  window  and  made  toward  him. 

"  Voyons,  comrade,"  they  protested,  "  we  are  desert 
ing,  too.  Don't  be  selfish,  but  lend  a  hand." 

They  let  themselves  down  to  the  barricade,  one 
after  the  other,  then  turned  and  motioned  Bourke  to 
follow. 

"  What  did  you  do  with  your  uniform  ?  "  asked  one 
of  the  men.  "  You're  lucky  to  find  those  clothes." 

"Zut !  "  said  the  other;  "we  can  sell  our  uniforms 
at  the  Temple  and  buy  blouses." 

There  was  something  not  altogether  unfamiliar  to 
Bourke  about  the  two  carbiniers.  He  looked  into 
their  hard  faces.  The  one  expressed  sodden,  sensual 
brutality,  the  other  vacant  viciousness.  Suddenly  it 
came  to  him.  They  were  the  Mouse's  pals,  Mon  Oncle 
and  Bibi  la  Goutte. 

"  Are  you  coming  with  us,  or  are  you  going  to 
stand  there  all  day  ?  "  asked  Mon  Oncle. 

Bibi  added  :  "  The  captain  will  be  looking  for  us  in 
ten  minutes,  to  help  on  that  damn  barricade." 

"  Listen,"  said  Bourke,  with  sudden  inspiration  ;  "  I 
am  not  going  to  desert  empty-handed.  Are  you  ?  " 

"  Hey?"  demanded  Bibi,  vacantly.  "  There's  noth 
ing  to  pocket  in  that  barracks  there,  and  I  know  our 
captain  looted  the  church." 

"  Captain  Speyer  ?  "  asked  Bourke. 

"  No— StaufTer." 

"  Is  Speyer  your  captain  ?  "  asked  Mon  Oncle. 

"Will  you  wait  till  I  finish?"  blustered  Bourke; 
"  or  do  you  want  to  run  away  empty-handed  ?  " 


BOURKE   DOES   WHAT   HE  CAN.  269 

"  I'll  take  anything  on  God's  earth,"  said  Bibi, 
solemnly,  "  but  there's  nothing  left  to  steal  in  this  part 
of  His  earth.  Is  there,  Mon  Oncle?  " 

"  Yes,  there  is,"  said  Bourke,  savagely  ;  "  there's 
that  girl  that  Speyer  stole  in  the  rue  d'Ypres." 

"  What  do  we  want  of  her?  "  asked  Bibi  in  genuine 
astonishment. 

"  Want !     You  want  the  reward,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Reward  !  "  muttered  Mon  Oncle  ;  "  is  that  why 
Speyer  stole  her?  I  thought  he  was  sweet  on  her." 

"  Zut !  "  said  Bibi,  "  of  course  it  was  for  a  reward. 
But  I  don't  see  how  we  are  to  get  her,  as  she's  in  the 
church  yonder." 

"  Of  course  she's  in  the  church,"  interrupted  Bourke, 
impudently,  but  his  voice  shook  in  spite  of  him  at 
such  unhoped-for  fortune — "  of  course  she's  in  the 
church,  and  all  we'll  have  to  do  is  to  wait  until  Speyer 
comes  out  with  his  lantern." 

"  And  crack  his  skull,"  blurted  out  Bibi,  eagerly, 
"  and—" 

"And  walk  into  the  church  and  get  her — hey?" 
suggested  Mon  Oncle. 

Then  Mon  Oncle  and  Bibi  began  to  dispute  about 
the  reward,  utterly  ignoring  Bourke.  The  latter  saw 
that  his  troubles  would  only  begin,  even  if  he  could 
get  Hilde  out  of  Speyer's  hands.  He  said  nothing, 
however,  until  Bibi  suddenly  squatted  down  behind 
the  barricade,  and  Mon  Oncle  followed  him,  dragging 
Bourke  to  the  ground. 

"  He's  coming  now,"  whispered  Bibi,  picking  up  a 
jagged  bit  of  stone,  "  wait — I'll  fix  him." 
*     Speyer,  swinging  a  lantern,    entered   the   barricade 
and  started  toward  the  barracks  of  the  carbiniers.     He 


2/0  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

hummed  a  tune  as  he  walked,  and  dangled  his  lantern 
this  way  and  that,  stepping  mincingly  over  the  puddles 
of  rain  water  and  drawing  his  capucin  closer. 

Then,  as  he  passed  Bourke,  Bibi  stole  out  like  a 
shadow,  swifter  and  yet  swifter,  and  struck  Speyer  a 
terrible  blow  with  the  heavy  stone.  The  lantern  fell 
— that  is  all  Bourke  saw — except  something  lying  in 
the  street,  and  Bibi  kneeling  above  it.  Presently  Bibi 
came  back,  holding  the  lantern,  still  lighted.  A  single 
spot  of  blood  blotched  the  glass. 

Without  a  glance  at  Bourke,  he  beckoned  Mon 
Oncle,  and  they  both  entered  the  church.  Before 
Bourke  could  rise,  they  reappeared  at  the  door,  ve 
hemently  disputing  with  a  sentry  who  seemed  loath 
to  allow  them  there ;  but  they  had  their  way  and 
again  disappeared. 

Bourke  crouched  behind  the  barricade,  revolver 
cocked,  eyes  on  the  church  door.  His  heart  was  suf 
focating  him  with  its  double  beating.  Second  after 
second  dragged  by. 

And  now  came  the  lantern  light  again,  nearer  and 
nearer  the  door.  Bibi  stepped  out  alone,  then  a  child 
— a  little  girl  came,  clinging  to  a  woman — Hild6 ! 
Mon  Oncle,  still  disputing  with  the  sentry,  brought 
up  the  rear. 

As  they  passed  the  barricade,  Bourke  saw  Mon 
Oncle  glance  fearfully  around,  but  Bibi  shoved  him 
forward,  and,  seizing  Hilde'sarm,  he  hurried  down  the 
street  and  entered  the  maze  of  sombre  lanes  and  alleys 
that  honeycomb  the  quarter  like  holes  in  a  rabbit 
warren.  Bourke  followed  them.  Once  or  twice  Bibi 
looked  over  his  shoulder  suspiciously ;  Mon  Oncle* 
was  always  on  the  alert.  So  they  crossed  the  an- 


BOURKE   DOES   WHAT   HE  CAN.  271 

archist  quarter,  Bourke  following,  and  began  to  skirt 
the  interior  of  the  city,  where  already  a  few  people 
were  stirring  and  where  the  morning  light,  in  spite  of 
the  rain,  glimmered  on  wet  streets  and  closed  shutters. 

Their  intention  was,  obviously,  to  gain  the  rookeries 
of  the  southern  quarters,  by  the  faubourgs  and  outer 
boulevards.  Bourke's  time  had  come  and  he  glided 
more  closely  on  their  heels,  until  Bibi,  turning  pru 
dently  to  inspect  his  trail,  saw  Bourke  standing  at  his 
elbow  with  levelled  revolver.  Mon  Oncle  whipped 
out  a  knife  and  Bourke  shot  him  dead  at  his  feet. 
Bibi,  in  an  ecstacy  of  fury,  struck  Hilde  a  murderous 
blow,  turned  and  ran  for  it,  ran  hard  for  his  life  ;  and 
Bourke  shot  at  him  as  he  ran,  standing  as  still  and 
composed  as  though  he  were  shooting  at  a  target. 
Every  bullet  struck  its  mark,  but  the  miserable  crea 
ture  ran  on,  headlong,  until  the  last  shot  sent  him 
spinning  and  reeling  into  a  tree,  at  the  foot  of  which 
he  crashed  down,  doubling  up  like  a  dead  rabbit. 

Then  Bourke  knelt  and  lifted  Hilde  in  his  arms. 
Over  her  eyes  the  blood  was  pouring  from  an  open 
cut.  Her  white  face  fell  back  on  his  shoulder  as  he 
rose  on  one  knee  in  a  circle  of  citizens  and  soldiers 
who  had  gathered  from  heaven  knows  where,  and  now 
stood  staring  at  Bourke  and  Hilde. 

"Where  is  your  post?  "  asked  Bourke  of  a  National 
Guardsman  who  bore  the  number  252  on  his  cap.  "  I 
want  a  stretcher  to  the  rue  d'Ypres." 

"  Send  for  a  stretcher,"  chorused  the  crowd,  and 
the  soldier  hurried  off  to  his  post  down  the  street, 
where  already  two  men  of  the  hospital  corps  were 
hastening  toward  the  group. 

"  Has  the  fighting  begun  in  Belleville  ?  "  asked  an- 


2/2  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

other  soldier,  turning  over  the  dead  body  of  Mon 
Oncle  with  his  foot  and  scowling  at  his  carbinier  uni 
form. 

"It  has  ended  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,"  said 
Bourke.  As  he  spoke  he  felt  a  little  hand  seek  his ; 
Red  Riding  Hood,  pale  and  composed,  stood  beside 
him. 

"  Have  they  killed  Mademoiselle  Hilde  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,"  said  Bourke,  "  see,  she  is  opening  her  eyes — 
see  ! — little  one." 

Then  Red  Riding  Hood  began  to  cry  at  the  strange 
words  that  Hilde  uttered — strange,  senseless  words 
that  meant  nothing  at  first  to  Bourke.  When  the 
stretcher  came,  he  walked  beside  it  as  they  bore  her 
to  t'he  rue  d'Ypres.  The  delirium  increased ;  she 
spoke  of  Harewood,  of  love,  of  lost  souls — lost  through 
love.  She  spoke  of  Harewood  as  though  he  lay  in 
death  on  the  edge  of  hell. 

And  Bourke  walked  beside.     And  he  understood, 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

FROM  the  first  of  November  the  situation  in  Paris 
became  more  alarming  day  by  day.  During  the  be 
ginning  of  the  siege  the  fear  of  bombardment  had 
driven  people  to  hang  out  ambulance  flags  or  hoist 
the  colours  of  neutral  nations  over  their  houses,  hop 
ing  that  the  German  cannon  might  spare  buildings  so 
protected.  Over  the  dismal  freezing  streets  thousands 
of  dingy,  tattered  flags,  mere  rags  for  the  most  part, 
still  fluttered  in  the  November  wind,  although  the  in 
habitants  of  the  wretched  city  began  to  regard  the 
Prussian  siege  guns  as  myths.  In  all  the  weeks  of 
fighting  that  had  passed  since  the  first  Uhlans  can 
tered  into  Versailles,  not  a  single  cannon-shot  from 
the  Prussian  lines  had  been  fired  against  the  city. 
Now  the  people  no  longer  believed  in  the  Prussian 
cannon. 

Yet,  with  the  opening  days  of  November,  there 
came  into  the  streets  of  Paris  something  new,  some 
thing  mysterious,  intangible,  vaguely  dreadful.  It 
was  reflected  in  the  thin  pinched  faces  of  the  people, 
it  lurked  in  the  hollow  eyes  of  the  soldiers — it  was 
everywhere,  in  the  cold  grey  waters  of  the  Seine,  in 
the  sad  twilight  of  the  lampless  streets,  in  the  brood 
ing  November  clouds.  It  was  not  fear,  it  was  not  de 
spair.  It  was  the  fear  of  despair. 


274  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

The  boulevards  were  no  longer  frequented ;  the 
caf£s,  the  vital  sparks  of  life  to  boulevard  and  street, 
were  now  closed  at  ten  o'clock.  With  the  closing  of 
the  caf£s  the  last  sign  of  animation  left  the  streets, 
and  at  ten  o'clock  the  city  lay  in  darkness,  save  for 
the  black  figures  on  the  icy  ramparts,  clustered  to 
watch  the  flash  of  some  great  gun,  the  flare  of  the 
shell,  the  monotonous  rockets  climbing  to  the  zenith 
from  the  forts  of  the  south. 

But  the  sickly  light  of  dawn  now  fell  on  crowded 
streets  instead  of  empty  ones,  for  everywhere  at  the 
doors  of  butcher-stalls  interminable  lines  of  women 
stood,  card  in  hand,  waiting  to  draw  their  meagre  ra 
tions  of  horse-flesh. 

There  were  few  cabs  and  fewer  omnibuses  left  in 
the  city  ;  the  government  needed  horses  for  artillery 
and  cavalry ;  the  people  needed  food.  Factories  had 
closed  everywhere,  save  where  the  Cail  steel  works 
flamed,  turning  out  cannon.  Most  of  the  railroad  sta 
tions  stood  silent  and  empty ;  the  Orleans  station, 
however,  served  for  balloon  manufacture. 

One  by  one  the  last  gas-jets  were  cut  off  and  public 
buildings  were  lighted  with  candles  and  petroleum,  un 
til  even  these  gave  out.  The  police  existed  no  longer; 
the  National  Guard  was  supposed  to  perform  police 
duties. 

There  was  no  communication  with  the  outside 
world  except  when  a  rare  spy  evaded  the  Prussian 
lines — or  by  balloons  and  pigeons.  Once  or  twice, 
spies,  sent  from  the  provinces,  crept  into  Paris,  a  few 
pigeons  found  their  way  into  the  besieged  city,  but 
no  balloons  ever  returned. 

The  balloons  left  Paris  at  night  to  avoid  the  fire  of 


ASHES   OF   EMPIRE.  2/5 

the  German  outposts.  Some  were  never  again  heard 
from,  some  were  lost  at  sea,  some  fell  in  Belgium.  A 
number,  however,  descended  in  the  southern  prov 
inces,  where  Gambetta  was  performing  prodigies — to 
his  own  satisfaction — and  occasionally  deluding  Paris 
with  foolish  announcements  of  success  for  the  French 
arms  in  the  south,  and  the  imminent  arrival  of  the 
Army  of  the  Loire  before  the  walls  of  Paris. 

The  Army  of  the  Loire  !  What  heights  of  hope, 
what  depths  of  despair  marked  its  brief  career !  On 
the  ramparts  the  starving  soldiers  looked  out  into  the 
south  for  the  army  that  never  came  ;  in  the  filthy 
streets  starving  women  and  sick  children  listened  for 
the  sound  of  its  cannon.  Rumours  grew  to  certain 
ties  ;  the  Army  of  the  Loire  had  hailed  Issy ;  its  can 
non  had  been  heard  in  the  west — in  the  south ;  its 
rockets  signalled  victory  and  rescue  from  the  east ! 
Then  the  freezing  streets  echoed  with  din  of  gallop 
ing  batteries  ;  sudden  columns  of  cavalry  filled  the 
outer  boulevards,  trampling  past  in  eager  silence ; 
endless  masses  of  infantry  swung  through  the  icy 
streets  with  the  startling  out-crash  of  drums  echoing 
and  re-echoing  from  window  to  pavement,  while  the 
great  guns  boomed  on  the  Point  du  Jour,  and  the 
forts  took  up  the  burden  from  Vanves  to  Saint  Denis, 
and  from  Romainville  to  the  battery  of  the  Double 
Crown. 

Then,  after  the  sortie  came  the  ambulances,  file 
after  file,  threading  the  frozen  roads  to  the  battle 
ground.  And  the  return  ! — the  creaking  wagon-loads 
of  dying,  the  stench  of  musty  blood-soaked  straw,  the 
spectral  regiments  tramping  through  the  gates,  the 
ragged  crowd  looking  on,  freezing,  starving,  dumb 


2/6  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

with  misery,  yet  ready  for  another  sortie  when  the  dull 
Governor  of  Paris  could  stir  from  the  shadow  of  his 
shadow-haunted  chamber. 

Little  by  little  the  rations  of  horse-meat  were  re 
duced  to  the  miserable  scrap  of  thirty  grammes  for 
adults  and  fifteen  grammes  for  children.  White  bread 
had  disappeared  ;  there  was  no  flour  left.  A  hard,  dry 
morsel  of  black  bread  was  rationed  daily  to  the  peo 
ple,  scarcely  enough  to  sustain  life  until  the  dawn  of 
another  day  brought  another  crust. 

The  newspapers  published  schedules  of  prices  from 
week  to  week ;  the  poor,  shivering  in  the  bitter  No 
vember  dawn,  stood  hour  after  hour,  ragged,  sick,  an 
kle  deep  in  slush,  patiently  awaiting  their  rations  of 
lean  horse-flesh,  and  reading  the  weekly  schedules  to 
pass  the  time  ; 

FRANCS. 

Horse-flesh  (per  kilo) 8 

Mule-flesh  (per  kilo) 10 

Dog 8 

Turkey 180 

Goose 125 

Rabbit 60 

Chicken 35 

Rat 3 

Eggs  (each) 3 

Cabbage  (each) 10 

Butter  (per  kilo) 80 

Potatoes  (per  boisseau) 30 

Nobody  except  the  very  rich  could  dream  of  paying 
such  prices.  The  poor,  trembling  in  the  cutting  sleet, 
read  the  schedules  as  they  waited  hour  after  hour  un 
til  their  turn  came  in  the  long  file.  Then,  wrapping 
the  bit  of  frozen  bone  and  flesh  in  their  rags,  they 


ASHES   OF   EMPIRE.  2/7 

crept  back  to  fireless  homes.  And  no  one  murmured  ; 
no  one  complained;  no  one  thought  of  surrender. 
Here  and  there  in  the  line  some  woman,  weak  with 
starvation,  fell  down  in  the  snow  ;  here  and  there  some 
young  girl,  cheeks  flaming  with  fever,  screamed  out  in 
sudden  delirium  and  staggered  off  into  the  city — rav 
ing  of  warm  fires  and  white  bread  and  the  mercy  of 
God.  The  rest  looked  on  in  silence ;  the  shivering 
line  closed  up  ;  the  next  old  woman  hobbled  away  with 
her  food,  mumbling  and  muttering  of  battles  to  come 
and  the  honour  of  France. 

There  was  no  fuel  left  for  the  poor ;  mothers  burned 
their  furniture  to  save  their  babies  from  freezing ;  the 
green  wood  from  the  bois  de  Boulogne  and  the  forest 
of  Vincennes  gave  out  little  heat  and  a  great  deal  of 
smoke  for  those  who  could  afford  to  buy  it.  Bands  of 
ruffians  sacked  the  Government  wood-yards  at  night, 
scarcely  recoiling  before  the  bayonets  of  the  National 
Guard;  troops  of  gamins  hunted  the  sewer  holes  for 
rats,  or  watched  the  gardens  of  the  rich  for  the  gaunt 
cats  that  had  almost  disappeared  from  the  famine- 
stricken  city.  The  animals  in  the  zoological  gardens, 
with  the  exception  of  the  lions  and  tigers,  were  killed 
and  eaten  one  by  one,  their  bones  boiled  for  broth, 
even  their  skins  scraped  and  steeped  to  gather  the  last 
shred  of  nourishment. 

Yet,  in  the  frightfully  stricken  city,  nobody  spoke 
of  surrender — unless  it  were  Monsieur  R£nan,  dining 
comfortably  at  his  caf£,  where,  napkin  in  hand,  he 
could  discuss  human  brotherhood  and  the  wickedness 
of  resistance — where  he  could  wipe  his  fat  hands  and 
lips  and  button  his  great  coat,  and  go  out  into  the 
desolate  streets  to  ponder  on  his  dexterity  in  hair- 


ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

splitting  debate,  and  the  degeneracy  of  his  native  land. 
Now  God  help  such  as  he — in  France,  in  the  western 
world — abroad  and  at  home.  For  the  foulest  thing 
that  creeps  on  earth  is  the  creature  who  besmirches 
the  motherland  in  evil  days,  and  days  of  need — al 
though  that  motherland  be  less  sinned  against  than 
sinning. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 
IN  HILDE'S  CHAMBER. 

WHEN  Hilde"  was  carried  into  the  house  on  the  ram 
parts,  unconsciousness  had  already  succeeded  her  brief 
delirium.  Yolette's  first  transports  at  sight  of  Hilde* 
and  Bourke  were  followed  by  days  of  terror  and  agonies 
of  doubt.  Hilde  was  very  ill — so  ill  that  Bourke 
brought  a  Sister  of  Mercy  to  the  house  in  the  first  days 
of  November,  and  spent  his  money,  almost  to  the  last 
franc,  for  the  necessaries  that  meant,  perhaps,  life  to 
Hilde. 

But  now  the  good  Sister  of  Mercy  had  gone  to  the 
hospitals  again,  and  Yolette  sat  all  day  long  at  Hilda's 
bedside,  watching  her  sister  grow  better  and  stronger. 

The  scar  on  her  forehead  healed,  promising  to  show, 
however,  as  a  tiny  white  crescent  ;  the  reaction  from 
the  horror  of  that  October  night  left  nothing  of  ner 
vousness  or  fear  behind.  As  she  grew  stronger,  her 
beauty,  too,  returned  ;  the  hollows  in  temple  and  cheek 
disappeared,  the  scarlet  came  back  to  her  lips,  exquisite 
whiteness  to  neck  and  brow.  But  in  the  dark  eyes 
Bourke  saw  that  the  last  sparkle  of  childhood  had  died 
out  forever;  only  the  sadness  of  woman  remained — the 
tenderness,  the  wistfulness,  the  sweetness  of  a  woman 
who  loves,  who  fears  and  who  waits. 

When,  in  the  last  weeks  of  November,  she  was  well 
enough,  she  told  Bourke  how  Speyer  and  his  carbi- 


280  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

niers  had  forced  her  into  an  ambulance,  how  they  had 
traversed  the  distracted  city,  how  Flourens  had  met 
Speyer  and  his  detachment  and  had  ordered  him  to 
place  Hilde"  and  Red  Riding  Hood  in  the  fortified 
church,  where  already  a  dozen  frightened  grey  nuns 
had  been  imprisoned. 

What  fate  Flourens  designed  for  the  grey  nuns, 
Bourke  could  not  conjecture;  what  fate  had  been  re 
served  for  Hilde",  he  dared  not  imagine.  He  told  her 
nothing  of  the  murder  of  Speyer  except  that  he  was 
dead ;  he  never  spoke  of  the  fate  of  Mon  Oncle  or  of 
Bibi,  nor  did  she  ever  mention  it,  although  both  Hilde 
and  Red  Riding  Hood  had  seen  the  killing  of  those 
eminent  ruffians. 

Bourke  read  in  the  newspapers  that  the  government 
troops  were  hunting  for  Flourens  and  Buckhurst  and 
that,  for  the  moment,  the  carbiniers  had  slunk  off  and 
mixed  in  with  their  equally  ferocious  fellow-citizens 
of  Belleville.  The  Undertakers  club,  however,  con 
tinued,  and,  as  this  was  really  the  head  and  heart  of 
Flourens'  battalions  of  bandits,  and  the  government 
weakly  permitted  its  doors  to  remain  open,  it  was 
clearly  only  a  question  of  time  when  Flourens  and  his 
carbiniers  should  once  more  reappear  on  the  scene  and 
raise  the  red  flag  of  revolt.  Buckhurst,  it  was  known, 
in  company  with  a  creature  named  Sapia,  and  the  vet 
eran  Blanqui,  was  already  deep  in  a  mysterious  secret 
society  that  pretended  to  represent  the  entire  National 
Guard,  and  called  itself  the  "Central  Committee." 
Naturally,  it  was  a  revolutionary  group,  an  obscure 
band  of  cutthroats,  who  sat  like  buzzards  watching  the 
agonized  city,  until  their  moment  should  arrive  to 
fatten  on  its  ruins. 


IN  HILDE'S  CHAMBER.  281 

When,  in  the  early  days  of  October,  Bourke's  fore 
sight  had  provided  tins  of  preserved  meat  and  vege 
tables  as  a  reserve  in  time  of  famine,  Hilde  and  Yo- 
lette  had  laughed  at  such  precautions.  But  now  these 
cans  and  tins  of  provisions  had  become  the  only  food 
of  the  little  household.  Even  while  Hilde  was  ill, 
Yolette  obstinately  refused  to  take  any  of  the  delica 
cies  provided  by  Bourke.  The  marauding  carbiniers 
had  only  begun  to  loot  the  cellar  when  the  news  of 
their  defeat  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville  sent  them  packing, 
therefore  the  provisions  remained  practically  un 
touched  up  to  the  day  when  Bourke  refused  to  renew 
the  government  card  that  entitled  the  little  household 
to  rations  of  horse-flesh  and  black  bread  for  three 
adults  and  a  child. 

Yolette  baked  tiny  biscuits  in  the  kitchen.  Red 
Riding  Hood  made  soup.  And  now  that  Hilde  was 
well  enough  to  come  down  stairs,  they  had  dinner  in 
the  dining-room  again,  where,  from  their  store  of  fuel, 
a  good  fire  burned  in  the  grate,  and  a  candle  sent  its 
cheerful  yellow  rays  into  the  chill  of  the  black  hall 
way.  The  shadow  that  fell  on  the  house  did  not  come 
from  the  battle  clouds  gathering  swiftly  in  the  south, 
nor  from  the  sleet,  the  bitter  cold,  the  rain,  nor  yet 
from  the  spectacle  of  the  splendid,  desolate  city,  naked 
and  famished,  filthy  and  diseased.  There  was  some 
thing  else  that  touched  Hilde's  face  with  the  subtle 
pallour,  that  made  her  silences  heart-breaking  and  her 
forced  smiles  terrible.  Bourke  knew.  At  such  mo 
ments  he  would  begin  :  "  You  see,  Hilde,  my  theory 
is  this :  Jim,  finding  that  Le  Bourget  was  threatened, 
struck  out  for  himself,  and  wriggled  through  the  Prus 
sian  lines  somewhere  between  the  fort  de  la  Briche 


282  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

and  Saint  Denis.  That's  what  I  would  have  done 
myself,  little  sister." 

Then  he  would  bring  his  map  and  stick  pins  all  over 
it,  and  talk  very  cheerfully,  until  Hilde,  lying  in  her 
arm-chair,  turned  her  head  away  to  conceal  the  tears 
that  came.  At  such  moments,  too,  Yolette  would 
read  aloud  from  Hugo,  and  her  clear  young  voice, 
pronouncing  the  superb  lines  of  "  Les  Chatiments," 
sent  the  blood  tingling  to  Bourke's  cheeks.  And 
then  the  deep,  strong  love  in  her  blue  eyes  when  she 
raised  them  to  meet  the  eyes  of  the  man  who  wor 
shipped  her.  The  room  would  become  very  still ; 
Hilde,  resting  motionless  among  her  shawls  and  cush 
ions,  eyes  closed,  sometimes  heard  the  rustle  of  Yo- 
lette's  dress,  the  light  footfall,  the  breathless  whisper, 
scarcely  audible,  "  I  love  you,  Cecil."  But  it  was  on 
Hilde's  eyes  that  Yolette's  kiss  always  fell.  As  for 
Bourke,  he  hoped  against  hope.  He  knew  what  the 
others  did  not  know — he  knew  that  Harewood  had  re 
mained  in  Le  Bourget,  at  least  during  the  first  assault, 
for  the  soldier  had  brought  him  Harewood's  letter, 
and  he  had  not  dared  to  show  it  to  Hilde  or  to  Yolette 
because  it  had  been  delivered  three  days  after  the  fall 
of  Le  Bourget.  At  night  he  could  not  sleep  for  think 
ing  how  Harewood  might  have  fallen  a  victim  to  his 
rashness.  Often  hot  anger  succeeded  uneasy  fore 
boding — anger  that  Harewood  should  have  dared  risk 
death,  when,  by  all  the  ties  of  honour  and  manhood, 
he  was  bound  to  Hilde  until  he  had  fulfilled  his  duty 
to  her,  to  Yolette,  to  Bourke. 

Often  his  face  would  harden  as  he  thought  of  all 
that  Harewood  had  promised,  all  that  he  had  not  ful 
filled,  of  the  wrong  he  had  wrought,  of  the  debt  he 


IN  HILDE'S  CHAMBER.  283 

had  incurred  that  should  be  paid  one  day  or  the  next, 
on  earth  or  in  the  life  to  come.  Again  and  again  he 
thought  of  Hilde's  words,  uttered  in  delirium,  and 
strove  to  believe  that  there  had  been  nothing  in  them, 
nothing  except  the  innocent  babble  of  a  sick  child. 
But  their  significance,  terrible  in  its  simplicity,  ap 
palled  him ;  he  thanked  God  that  Yolette  had  been 
spared  that ;  he  remembered  that  Hilde"  herself  was 
unaware  of  having  spoken.  At  moments  he  almost 
wished  Harewood  dead.  What  was  life  worth  to  such 
a  man  or  to  his  friends?  What  did  love  or  honour 
mean  to  him  ?  The  demon  of  selfishness  had  taken 
possession  of  him.  Selfish  he  had  lived  ;  his  death,  if 
death  had  overtaken  him,  was  but  the  last  whim  of  his 
selfishness,  self-satisfaction  at  the  expense  of  honour, 
a  reckless  risk  of  self,  heedless  of  the  most  solemn 
duty  he  owed  to  Hilde,  which  was  to  live  merely  to  live 
until  he  had  a  moral  right  to  die.  "  Let  him  die," 
thought  Bourke  ;  "  it  will  be  better  for  her  perhaps, 
whatever  be  the  verdict  of  church  or  state — better  for 
her,  if  the  blow  does  not  kill  her."  He  could  say  this 
almost  aloud,  as  he  lay  in  his  dark  room  at  night,  and 
yet,  often  starting  awake  from  dreams  of  his  comrade, 
he  would  sit  up  praying,  for  he  often  prayed,  that 
Harewood,  his  friend,  might  return. 

The  month  of  November  passed  in  an  almost  con 
stant  downpour,  sometimes  rain,  sometimes  snow, 
more  often  driving  sleet  or  fierce  icy  storms,  where 
sheets  of  fine  frozen  dust  drove  through  winds  so  bitter 
that  sentries  froze  at  their  posts  and  every  dawn  broke 
on  such  scenes  of  suffering  among  the  ragged  troops 
beyond  the  enceinte,  that  the  newspapers  scarcely 
dared  record  the  details. 


284  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

Combat  after  combat  was  delivered  under  the  walls 
of  Paris,  but  it  was  not  until  the  end  of  the  month  that 
the  great  series  of  battles  began  along  the  Marne,  cul 
minating  in  the  frightful  slaughter  at  Champigny — a 
victory  for  France  perhaps,  because  the  Germans  had 
failed  to  hurl  Ducrot's  troops  across  the  Marne  and 
destroy  the  bridges — but  the  victory  was  a  sterile  one, 
and  the  laurels  fell  on  heads  too  weak  with  sickness 
and  starvation  to  bear  the  weight  of  even  withered 
wreaths. 

Then,  on  December  fifth,  came  the  news  that  Orleans 
had  fallen  and  the  Army  of  the  Loire  was  destroyed — 
news  sent  by  letter  under  a  flag  of  truce  from  Moltke 
— a  grim  letter,  devilish  in  its  courtesy : 

"  Versailles,  Dec.  5,  1870. 

"  It  might  be  useful  to  inform  your  excellency  (General  Trochu) 
that  the  Army  of  the  Loire  has  been  defeated  near  Orleans,  and 
that  the  city  has  been  re- occupied  by  German  troops. 

"  If,  nevertheless,  your  excellency  judges  it  advisable  to  convince 
yourself  by  one  of  your  officers,  I  will  not  fail  to  furnish  him  with 
safe  conduct  to  go  there  and  return. 

"  Permit  me,  General,  to  express  the  high  consideration  with 
which  I  have  the  honour  to  be  your  very  humble  and  very  obedient 
servant. 

"  (Signed),  The  Chief  of  the  General  Staff, 

"  COUNT  VON  MOLTKE." 

The  news  stunned  the  people  ;  at  first  nobody  credited 
it.  The  Governor  began  ostentatious  preparations 
for  another  sortie,  alas  !  against  the  very  village  he  had 
abandoned  when  it  was  in  his  own  hands — Le  Bourget. 

But  it  was  not  until  the  end  of  December  that  he 
was  ready  to  begin,  and  then  the  cold  became  so 
frightful  that  900  men  froze  on  a  single  night  in  the 


IN  HILDE'S  CHAMBER.  285 

trenches,  and  during  the  last  ten  days  of  the  month 
20,000  soldiers  were  carried  to  the  hospitals.  The  at 
tack  on  Le  Bourget  was  abandoned. 

The  moral  and  material  sufferings  of  the  miserable 
people  of  Paris  were  terrible  beyond  description.  The 
mortality  among  children  reached  a  figure  that  seemed 
unbelievable — 2,500  in  a  single  week.  There  was  no 
milk  for  them,  they  could  not  swallow  the  black  bread, 
the  flesh  of  horses  and  mules,  so  they  died,  some  from 
fevers,  many  from  the  cold,  many,  many  from  starva 
tion. 

In  December,  toward  Christmas  time,  the  first  signs 
of  discouragement  appeared  among  the  people.  Del 
uged  with  false  despatches,  manufactured  by  the 
wholesale  and  printed  in  the  government's  official  jour 
nal,  the  poor  people  at  last  became  aware  of  the  bitter 
deceptions — the  false  news  of  victory  followed  inevi 
tably  by  tardy  avowals  of  disaster.  Their  hopes  each 
day  reborn,  each  night  dead,  their  momentary  joy  and 
pride  at  the  announcement  of  successes  ruthlessly  de 
stroyed  by  the  lying  government,  led  them  more 
surely  and  more  swiftly  toward  despair  than  if  they 
had  been  told  the  truth,  no  matter  how  sad. 

Yet  even  then  nobody  spoke  of  surrender — always 
excepting  Monsieur  Renan,  who  once  wrote  a  life  of 
Jesus  Christ. 

The  month  of  December  passed  slowly  in  the  rue 
d'Ypres.  Bourke  often  went  into  the  cellar  to  count 
the  sticks  of  wood  remaining.  They  were  easily 
counted.  Provisions  might  last  for  several  weeks  yet, 
but  the  last  candle  had  been  burned  and  the  last  drop 
of  oil  used  up. 

AH  day  on  December  thirty-first  he  wandered  about 


286  ASHES    OF   EMPIRE. 

the  sombre  boulevard,  which,  in  happier  times  of  peace, 
had  swarmed  with  holiday  shoppers  for  the  New  Year. 
Now  nothing  remained  of  the  crowds,  the  splendid 
stores  all  a-glitter  with  lights,  the  rush  of  gorgeous 
carriages,  the  flutter  of  silken  gowns.  Under  the 
Grand  Hotel  a  sick  man  sold  little  cakes  at  exorbitant 
prices ;  a  few  old  women  peddled  wooden  toys ;  that 
was  all. 

He  found,  in  a  shabby  store,  one  or  two  little  gifts 
for  Yolette  and  Hilde.  For  Red  Riding  Hood  he 
bought  a  tiny  box  of  bonbons  and  a  pair  of  shoes.  It 
was  all  he  could  afford. 

So  they  celebrated  the  New  Year  together,  trying 
to  be  cheerful,  forcing  themselves  to  talk,  until  the 
thunder  of  the  forts,  culminating  in  a  series  of  terrific 
crashes,  drowned  their  faint  voices  and  left  them  silent, 
each  to  dream  the  same  dream,  each  to  think  of  the 
absent  one,  and  pray  a  little,  too,  for  their  comrade, 
wherever  he  might  be  on  that  first  sad  day  of  the  new 
year.  As  for  Red  Riding  Hood,  she  always  had  some 
thing  to  pray  for,  and  late  that  night  she  crept  into 
Hilde's  room,  and  said  her  prayers  for  France,  and  for 
the  repose  of  her  father's  soul,  who  had  died  as  sol 
diers  die — so  she  thought.  Hild£,  shivering  in  her 
chilly  bed,  listened  to  the  childish  voice  : 

"  Upon  us  have  pity,  upon  our  land  of  France,  upon 
our  city,  upon  our  soldiers,  pity,  sweet  Holy  Virgin  ; 
intercede  for  papa,  who  is  dead — for  General  Trochu 
and  General  Bourbaki  and  General  Chanzy — and  the 
Army  of  the  Loire." 

"  Amen,"  whispered  Hilde.  The  child  rose  from 
her  knees  ;  Hild£  drew  her  into  the  bed  and  warmed 
the  cold  little  body  against  her  own.  The  cannonade 


IN  HILDE'S  CHAMBER.  287 

grew  louder ;  toward  midnight  all  the  southern  and 
eastern  forts  were  firing.  An  hour  later  the  batteries 
at  the  Point  du  Jour  joined  in,  swelling  the  majestic 
volume  of  the  cannonade  until  the  floors  of  the  house 
seemed  to  sway  and  tremble  in  the  splendid  rhythm 
of  the  guns'  deep  thunder.  "  Can  you  not  sleep?" 
asked  the  child.  "  No,"  said  Hilde.  After  a  silence 
the  child  spoke  again. 

"Mademoiselle  Hilde?" 

"Yes,  little  one." 

"  Was  it  Our  Lady  of  Paris  who  gathered  the  can 
non  balls  in  her  veil  of  lace  when  they  fired  at  the 
city  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  years  ago?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Hilde,  faintly. 

Presently  the  child  said,  "  I  should  like  to  hear  about 
SainteGenevieve  and  about  Sainte  Hilde  of  Carhaix." 

"  Can  you  not  sleep,  Red  Riding  Hood  ?  " 

"Yes,  but  you  have  tears  on  your  face." 

"  They  are  often  there  now,  little  one." 

"  Since  he  went  away,  Mademoiselle  Hilde?" 

"  Since  he  went  away." 

The  child's  arms  sought  Hilde's  neck ;  their  faces 
touched  now. 

"  Hear  the  cannon,"  whispered  the  child  ;  "  they 
are  very  loud  to-night.  Do  you  think  our  Lord  Jesus 
is  listening  to  the  cannon  ?  " 

Hilde  did  not  reply.  The  child  spoke  again,  as 
though  to  herself: 

"  He  is  somewhere  up  there  near  the  stars,  you 
know.  The  cannon  cannot  hurt  Him.  He  is  sorry 
for  us  when  we  are  cold  and  when  the  Prussians  shoot 
our  fathers.  When  we  sin  He  is  sorry,  for  we  go  to 
hell  unless — unless — " 


288  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

"  Hush,"  murmured  Hilde  ;  "  sleep,  little  one." 

The  child  whimpered. 

"  Mademoiselle  Hilde,  I  cannot  sleep,  because  you 
are  crying." 

"  Hush,  "said  Hilde",  "  those  who  weep  are  some 
times  pardoned." 

*'  Have  you  sinned  ?  "  asked  the  child  innocently. 

"Sainte  Hilde  of  Carhaix,  witness  for  me  !  I  do  not 
know,"  sobbed  Hilde\  "  O,  God!  O,  God  !— to  have 

him  back  ! — only  to  have  him  back !  " 

****** 

"  There  is  some  one  knocking,"  said  the  child. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

THE   BEGINNING  OF  THE  END. 

THE  knocking  was  repeated ;  Hilde"  sat  up  in  the 
darkness,  staring  through  her  tangled  hair  at  the  dim 
outlines  of  the  door. 

"  Who  is  it  ? "  she  asked,  striving  to  steady  her 
voice. 

There  came  the  shuffle  of  feet,  a  sound  of  whispered 
consultation.  Suddenly  a  voice  spoke  out : 

"  We  want  your  house  for  a  hospital.  The  wounded 
are  coming  in  by  the  Porte  Rouge." 

Hilde  sprang  from  the  bed  and  groped  in  the 
darkness  for  her  clothes,  bidding  them  wait  and  she 
would  open.  And  now  Yolette  was  stirring  in  the 
next  room,  and  Bourke  came  down  stairs,  half  dressed, 
and  lighted  a  fire  in  the  dining-room,  for  there  was  no 
other  means  of  illumination. 

When  Hild£  appeared,  soldiers  of  the  hospital  corps 
were  piling  straw  in  the  hallway.  Outside,  the  street . 
was  choked  with  cavalry,  helmets  glimmering  in  the 
frosty  dawn.  Already  a  red-cross  flag  hung  over  the 
doorsteps,  its  soiled  folds  floating  lazily  with  every  icy 
air  current. 

When  the  first  stretcher  appeared,  borne  by  priests, 
the  cavalry  moved  on,  endless  lines  of  them,  and  the 
trumpet's  sad  peal  was  echoed  by  steel  cuirasses  clash 
ing  and  the  chiming  of  spurs  and  sabres,  and  a  thou- 


2QO  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

sand  horse-shoes'  flinty  clink.  One  by  one  the  ambu 
lances  creaked  up  the  street  from  the  Porte  Rouge; 
one  by  one  the  stretchers  passed.  Every  house  re 
ceived  its  load  of  wounded,  every  house  hoisted  the 
Geneva  cross. 

Yolette  and  Hilde  helped  the  soldiers  spread  straw 
on  the  floor  ;  all  the  rooms  on  the  ground  floor  were 
taken,  and  the  wounded  lay  there  side  by  side,  half 
frozen,  pale  as  corpses.  There  were  a  few  Germans 
among  them,  quiet,  blond  fellows,  staring  at  every 
body  with  mild  blue  eyes.  One  of  them,  a  mere  boy, 
watched  Hilde  as  she  moved  about  with  cups  of  hot 
brandy,  silently  awaiting  his  turn — which  never  came, 
for  he  died  without  a  sound  before  she  reached  his 
side. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  the  surgeons 
appeared.  Hilde"  and  Yolette  gave  up  their  places  to 
some  sad-eyed  Sisters  of  Mercy,  and  Bourke  insisted 
that  they  should  go  to  Harewood's  room  on  the  floor 
above.  They  slept  there  that  night,  keeping  each 
other  warm  as  best  they  could,  for  they  had  given 
most  of  the  bed-covering  to  the  wounded. 

At  daylight  the  dead  cart  came  to  their  door,  halted 
for  its  load,  then  rumbled  on  to  the  next  house.  Other 
wagons  passed,  creaking  under  their  weight  of  wounded; 
sounds  rose  from  the  kitchen,  where  already  the  good 
Sisters  of  Mercy  were  making  broth  and  splitting  green 
wood.  Hild£,  her  head  on  Yolette's  breast,  could 
hear  Bourke  stirring  in  his  room.  Yolette  heard  it, 
too,  and  opened  her  blue  eyes.  It  was  daylight. 

"  Did  you  sleep,  Hilde?  "  she  asked.  "  You  are  so 
pale — " 

"  Yes,  I  slept.     Did  you    hear   that  wounded  man 


THE   BEGINNING  OF  THE  END.  29! 

groan  ?  O,  Yolette  !  Yolette — I  think  I  heard  him 
die — die  down  there  in  the  cold  and  dark." 

She  rose,  shivering,  to  break  the  ice  in  her  water 
pitcher.  Her  shoulders,  white  as  the  snow  outside, 
shrank  under  the  icy  sponge. 

"  The  awful  odour  of  chloroform  makes  my  head 
ache,"  said  Yolette.  "  The  whole  house  reeks  of  car 
bolic  acid,  too.  Shall  I  open  the  window?" 

Hilde  crept  into  her  grey  wool  gown,  held  her  wrists 
out  for  Yolette  to  fasten  the  linen  cuffs,  then,  pinning 
on  the  nurse's  apron,  she  went  down  stairs.  Around 
one  arm,  just  above  the  elbow,  she  wore  the  white 
band  and  red  cross  of  the  volunteer  nurse. 

The  Sisters  of  Mercy  greeted  her  in  low  voices,  and 
told  her  that  the  empty  places  on  the  straw  had  al 
ready  been  filled.  A  fresh  convoy  of  wounded  was  at 
the  Porte  Rouge.  The  whole  quarter  had  been  turned 
into  a  vast  hospital,  and  nurses  and  surgeons  were 
coming  from  the  Luxembourg  and  Sorbonne. 

That  night,  however,  orders  arrived  to  transport  the 
wounded  to  the  Luxembourg,  and,  amid  the  confusion 
of  passing  cavalry,  the  crush  of  ambulances,  the  end 
less  processions  of  stretchers,  the  throngs  of  nurses, 
priests  and  soldiers,  the  wounded  were  carried  out  once 
more  to  their  straw-wadded  wagons.  It  was  snowing 
heavily ;  across  the  lurid  flames  from  the  torches  the 
flakes  fell  thickly,  covering  the  blankets  of  the  wounded 
and  the  cloaks  of  nurses.  The  whole  quarter  echoed 
with  the  noise  of  departure  ;  from  every  street  the  wail 
ing  of  the  sick,  the  groaning  of  the  stricken,  the  sharp, 
nervous  orders  of  the  surgeons  rose  and  mingled  in 
one  monotonous  plaint.  At  length,  when  the  house 
was  empty,  and  the  last  stretcher  had  passed  out  to 


2Q2  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

join  the  torchlit  procession  in  the  snow,  Hilde  sat 
down  on  the  sofa  and  buried  her  head  in  Yolette's 
arms.  Her  tears  were  tears  of  sheer  physical  weak 
ness,  for  she  had  eaten  nothing  since  the  night  be 
fore,  saving  every  scrap  for  the  wounded  in  spite  of 
Bourke's  protestations. 

And  now,  because  the  wounded  had  needed  so 
much,  Bourke  found  his  cellar  empty.  He  had  sent 
Red  Riding  Hood  to  procure  a  ration  card,  and  that 
night  they  ate  the  government  rations  for  the  first 
time. 

Yolette  tried  to  make  light  of  it,  saying  that  the 
soup  was  good,  and  that  she  did  not  believe  it  could 
be  anything  but  beef  broth.  Hilde  and  Bourke  ate 
their  portions  and  swallowed  the  coarse  lumps  of 
black  bread,  too  tired  to  care  what  they  were  eating. 

"  This  can't  last  long,"  said  Bourke  ;  "  the  siege  will 
end  one  way  or  another."  He  looked  anxiously  at 
Yolette  as  he  spoke.  Her  forced  gaiety  was  heart 
breaking.  What  in  the  world  was  he  to  do?  His 
money  was  gone ;  the  last  tin  of  provisions  had  been 
given  to  the  wounded. 

"  Who  cares?  "  said  Yolette,  lightly  ;  "  if  the  army 
eat  horse  surely  we  can  eat  it.  Shame  on  you,  Cecil — 
you,  a  great,  strong  man !  What  would  Monsieur 
Harewood  say?" 

"  Jim  is  probably  not  dining  on  horse,"  said  Bourke, 
cheerfully.  "  Ten  to  one  he's  in  Bordeaux,  living  like 
a  prince  and  wondering  how  long  we  Parisians  are  go 
ing  to  stand  it." 

"I  know,"  said  Hihte,  flushing,  "that  if  he  could 
come  back  he  would  come." 

"Of  course  he  would,"  said  Bourke.     "He'll  come 


THE   BEGINNING   OF   THE   END.  293 

the  minute  the  gates  are  opened,  anyway.  It  won't 
be  long  now,  one  way  or  the  other." 

"  There  is  but  one  way,"  said  Hilde",  gravely. 

"  Of  course — of  course  we  must  win.  I  don't  mean 
to  say  that  the  city  will  surrender,"  said  Bourke, 
hastily. 

"  The  Governor  of  Paris  has  promised  not  to  sur 
render,"  announced  Red  Riding  Hood,  as  though  that 
settled  the  matter  for  ever. 

After  a  moment  Yolette  began  ;  "  Have  you  noticed 
that  the  cannonade  grows  louder  every  evening?  I 
have  thought  that  perhaps  the  Germans  are  getting 
nearer  the  forts  of  the  south.  To-day  I  could  see 
smoke  all  along  the  Meudon  hills." 

Bourke  said  nothing.  He  knew  that,  to  the  aston 
ishment  of  the  government,  the  Germans  had  sud 
denly  unmasked  a  siege  battery,  and  were  pounding 
the  barracks  of  Issy  to  powder. 

"  I  have  been  thinking,"  he  said,  after  a  moment, 
"  that  perhaps  we  had  better  move  this  week.  In 
fact,  I  have  already  engaged  three  rooms  for  us  in  the 
rue  Serpente." 

Yolette  looked  at  him  in  amazement. 

"  It  is  well  to  be  prepared,"  he  continued,  with  a 
smile.  "  Our  ramparts  here  are  not  far  from  the 
southern  forts,  and,  in  the  event  of  the  Prussians 
establishing  siege  batteries,  they  might  take  it  into 
their  heads  to  send  their  big  shells  sailing  over  the 
forts  to  our  own  ramparts  !  " 

"And  if  Monsieur  Harewood  returns?"  said  Hilde", 
faintly. 

"  He'd  rather  find  our  house  in  ruins  than  its  tenants 
blown  to  pieces — wouldn't  he?"  smiled  Bourke. 


294  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

"  Anyway,  this  house  is  not  the  place  for  you  at  pres 
ent." 

Hilde"  said  nothing ;  Yolette  leaned  across  the  table 
and  began  a  low  murmured  conversation  with  Bourke 
that  only  ended  when  Red  Riding  Hood  woke  up 
from  the  sofa  and  began  to  whimper  with  the  cold. 

The  next  morning  Bourke  went  to  the  house  in  the 
rue  Serpente,  taking  a  man  to  carry  his  personal  lug 
gage.  By  afternoon  Yolette's  and  Hilde's  slender 
wardrobes  were  deposited  in  the  furnished  rooms  at 
19  rue  Serpente,  and,  in  the  tiny  kitchen,  Red  Riding 
Hood  was  installed  on  a  cot. 

It  was  the  fourth  of  January  ;  on  the  fifth  they  were 
to  take  possession,  and  the  house  on  the  ramparts  was 
to  remain  closed  until  the  end  of  the  siege  of  Paris. 

All  day  long  Yolette  and  Hild£  were  busy  with  the 
furniture  and  bedding.  They  dusted  and  aired  the 
familiar  rooms,  packed  table  linen  and  plated-ware 
away,  arranged  the  kitchen  dishes,  locked  and  bolted 
the  garden  doors  and  windows,  and  closed  the  shutters. 

There  had  been  a  meagre  distribution  of  rations 
that  day.  Bourke  had  no  money  to  buy  food,  and 
there  was  nothing  to  do  but  wait  for  the  morrow. 

As  they  sat  there  by  the  dining-room  windows  late 
in  the  afternoon,  Yolette  thought  of  that  afternoon 
when  Bourke  had  told  her  that  he  loved  her.  He  was 
sitting  now,  just  as  he  had  sat  that  day — the  day  that 
seemed  already  years  away.  Bourke  raised  his  head. 

"Are  you  thinking  of  it  too?  "  he  asked  gently. 

"  Yes,  Cecil." 

Hilde"  rose  and  slipped  away  to  her  own  silent 
chamber.  The  azure-mantled  faience  Sainte  looked 
down  at  her  with  the  same  complacent  smile  on  her 


THE   BEGINNING  OF  THE   END.  295 

china  face,  the  rosary  hung  beneath.  For  the  last 
time,  she  knelt  and  prayed  for  the  man  she  loved — for 
his  return  if  living — for  his  forgiveness  if  dead.  Her 
eyes  filled,  her  hot  head  swam  ;  she  sank  back  against 
the  bed  in  a  passion  of  weeping,  her  hands  clasped 
over  her  head. 

Through  the  evening  clouds  the  setting  sun  gleamed 
for  an  instant,  a  long  red  ray  stole  into  the  room. 
She  rose  to  her  knees  and  looked  out  at  the  clouds, 
where,  for  the  first  time  in  so  many  days,  the  sun  glit 
tered.  As  she  looked,  a  speck  grew  before  her  eyes, 
nearer,  nearer,  slanting  downward,  seeming  to  strike 
her  window.  She  sprang  up.  A  white  pigeon  flut 
tered  at  the  pane — a  tired,  frightened  little  thing  that 
let  her  take  it  in  her  hands  and  smooth  it,  and  murmur 
to  it  senseless,  pitiful  words.  Under  one  wing,  fastened 
to  a  quill,  was  the  message  for  the  Governor  of  Paris. 
She  touched  the  quill  with  hesitating  fingers,  and, 
finding  it  secure,  folded  back  the  pigeon's  wings  and 
warmed  it  in  her  breast.  Then,  knowing  it  was  rested 
and  ready  to  resume  its  journey,  she  kissed  the  little 
feathered  head  and  let  it  go.  The  bird  rose  high  in 
the  air,  circled  twice,  then  slanted  westward  and  was 
lost  in  the  cannon  haze  drifting  in  from  the  distant 
forts. 

An  hour  later  the  Governor  of  Paris  knew  that  the 
Army  of  the  East  had  been  annihilated. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE   BOMBARDMENT. 

ON  the  fifth  of  January,  at  seven  minutes  after  five 
in  the  afternoon,  the  first  shell  fell  in  Paris.  The  pro 
jectile  entered  the  city  a  little  northeast  from  the  fort 
of  Vanves,  and  plunged  into  the  street,  exploding 
with  frightful  force.  A  moment  later  the  ominous 
quaver  of  another  shell  was  heard  from  the  Porte 
Rouge.  The  huge  projectile  seemed  to  hang  above 
the  rue  d'Ypres,  growing  larger  and  larger  as  it  neared 
the  street.  Suddenly  it  exploded,  sweeping  the  roof 
tops  with  a  hail  of  iron  fragments,  wrecking  chimneys 
and  tiles,  and  showering  the  street  with  shattered 
slates. 

An  old  woman  ran  shrieking  along  the  sidewalk,  her 
grey  hair  dripping  with  blood,  a  cannonier  on  the 
ramparts  lay  writhing  beside  the  Prophet.  The  ar 
tillerymen  recovered  from  their  amazement,  and  swung 
the  great  gun  southwest.  A  clap  of  thunder  shook 
the  bastions,  a  white  cloud,  ever  spreading,  wrapped 
the  Prophet.  But  again  came  the  terrifying  shriek  of 
a  shell,  nearer,  nearer — then  the  street  trembled  with 
its  impact,  and  the  houses  rocked  and  reeled  to  their 
foundations  as  the  Prophet  thundered  its  reply. 

The  forts  of  the  south  were  flaming  and  blazing 
from  every  embrasure ;  the  batteries,  the  redoubts, 


THE   BOMBARDMENT.  297 

the  southern  bastions  of  the  fortifications  were  covered 
with  smoke ;  but  still  into  the  city  plunged  the  Prus 
sian  shells,  blowing  houses  to  ruins,  setting  fire  to 
roofs,  exploding  in  the  streets,  on  the  sidewalks,  on 
bridges  and  quays,  squares  and  boulevards,  hurling 
death  and  destruction  to  the  four  quarters  of  the  city. 
Three  little  children,  crossing  the  rue  Malaise,  were 
blown  to  atoms  ;  a  woman  running  for  shelter  to  the 
Prince  Murat  barracks  was  disembowelled  in  the  rue 
d'Ypres.  A  convent  was  struck  repeatedly,  two  shells 
entered  a  hospital  and  tore  the  helpless  wounded  to 
shreds,  another  killed  a  poor  American  student  in 
his  room  in  the  rue  de  Seine.  Faster  and  faster  came 
the  shells  ;  night  added  to  the  horror  of  the  scene ; 
the  darkness  was  lighted  by  the  flames  of  burning 
houses.  The  uproar  of  the  forts,  the  scream  and  hiss 
of  shells,  the  deafening  explosions  of  the  cannon 
blended  in  a  tumult  indescribably  frightful.  At  mo 
ments,  in  the  brief  lulls  of  the  uproar,  the  iron  knell 
ing  of  the  tocsin  was  heard,  the  fainter  booming  of 
drums  calling  to  arms,  the  distant  rush  of  artillery, 
galloping  pell-mell  to  the  bastions. 

In  the  rue  Serpente,  Hilde  and  Yolette  crouched, 
half  dead  with  terror.  A  shell  had  fallen  at  the  cor 
ner  of  the  street  and  had  torn  a  cafe  to  pieces. 
Bourke  had  been  away  since  early  noon,  and  Yolette's 
fright  and  anxiety  for  him  drove  Hilde  to  forget  her 
own  fear. 

In  that  dark,  narrow  street,  with  its  rows  of  ancient 
houses,  women  and  children,  frantic,  shrieking,  dis 
hevelled,  ran  hither  and  thither  to  escape  the  shells. 
Some  shouted,  "The  other  side  of  the  river!  Save 
yourselves !  "  Others  ran  back  into  the  tall  crumbling 


298  ASHES   OF    EMPIRE. 

houses  to  cower  on  the  worm-eaten  stairs  or  crawl 
into  the  cellars. 

"We  must  go  to  the  cellar,"  repeated  Hilde",  with 
white  lips.  "  Yolette,  everybody  is  going  to  the 
cellar." 

"  I  cannot — I  will  not  stir  until  he  comes  back," 
whispered  Yolette.  "  Go  to  the  cellar  if  you  wish." 

Shell  after  shell,  moaning,  whistling,  flew  high  over 
head.  The  air  hummed  with  the  quaver,  the  win 
dows  vibrated.  There  came  a  terrific  report  from 
the  corner  of  the  street,  a  house  bulged  outward,  falling 
slowly  amid  the  crash  and  crackle  of  wooden  beams. 
A  heap  of  plaster  choked  the  street  ;  some  woodwork 
afire  lighted  up  the  mass  of  lime  and  bricks  under 
which  something  writhed  feebly — a  man  perhaps. 

Red  Riding  Hood  knelt  clinging  to  Hilde"  s  skirt  in 
an  agony  of  fright.  The  child  was  still  in  her  night 
gown,  and  her  little  limbs,  numb  with  cold,  quivered. 

Somebody  on  the  stairs  cried  out :  "  The  roof  is  on 
fire  !  "  Another  rushed  screaming  to  the  cellar. 

"Come!"  murmured  Hilde,  "we  cannot  stay; 
Yolette — we  shall  be  burned  if  we  stay — O,  come, 
come !  " 

"Not  to  the  cellar!"  cried  Yolette.  "What  are 
you  doing — the  house  will  burn  over  you !  "  They 
were  on  the  stairs  now,  Hilde*  dragging  the  child  by 
the  hand,  Yolette  following  and  trying  to  make  her 
self  heard  in  the  din. 

"  Don't  go  into  the  street !  "  she  cried  again. 

"We  can't  stay  in  the  house!"  panted  Hilde, 
desperately. 

"  Go  back  !  Go  back  !  "  shouted  a  crowd  of  soldiers, 
who  came  stampeding  through  the  street  and  poured 


THE    BOMBARDMENT.  299 

into  the  houses :  "  The  cellars  are  safe.  Go  to  the 
cellars !  " 

They  pushed  past  the  doorway,  motioning  Hild6  to 
follow.  She  shrank  against  the  doorpost,  holding 
tight  to  Yolette  and  Red  Riding  Hood. 

The  street  outside  was  ruddy  with  the  glare  of 
burning  houses;  the  shells  streamed  high  overhead 
toward  the  Pantheon  now,  falling  beyond  the  rue 
Serpente,  some  in  the  boulevard  Saint  Michel, 
some  on  the  Sorbonne,  many  on  the  Val-de-Grace 
and  a  few  even  in  the  river.  The  fire  of  the  Prussian 
guns  shifted  capriciously ;  now  the  Montparnasse 
quarter  was  covered  with  projectiles,  now  the  Luxem 
bourg,  now  the  Latin  quarter.  But  always  the  shells 
streamed  thickest  toward  the  hospitals,  the  barracks, 
the  churches,  palaces  and  great  public  buildings. 

As  the  shells  ceased  falling  in  the  rue  Serpente, 
the  people  crept  from  the  cellars,  the  soldiers  of  the 
Garde  Mobile  slunk  off,  and  a  company  of  firemen 
came  up  on  a  run,  dragging  their  hand  machine. 
Bands  of  skulking  vagrants  prowled  through  the 
street,  half  bold,  half  timid,  peering  into  doorways, 
hanging  about  shell-wrecked  houses,  shoving,  prying, 
insulting  women. 

One  of  these  ruffians  entered  the  hallway  where 
Hild6  stood,  and  started  to  ascend  the  stairs,  but, 
evidently  considering  the  shabby  house  not  worth  his 
attention,  turned  and  stood  hesitatingly  in  the  full 
glare  of  a  burning  house. 

"Mademoiselle  Hilde,"  whispered  Red  Riding 
Hood,  "  Look  !  Look  !  "  At  the  same  moment  the 
vagabond  saw  Hilde,  and  shrank  back  against  the 
wall. 


300  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

It  was  the  Mouse. 

Hilde"  sprang  to  the  shaky  stairs  and  seized  the 
Mouse  by  his  ragged  sleeve.  That  startled  young 
ruffian  suffered  himself  to  be  dragged  up  the  stairs 
and  into  the  little  apartment,  now  brightly  illumi 
nated  by  the  flames  from  the  burning  house  on  the 
corner.  Yolette  and  Red  Riding  Hood  followed. 

"  Now,"  muttered  Hilde,  breathless,  "  tell  me  where 
he  is?  What  have  you  done  with  him?"  She  stood 
before  the  Mouse,  with  flashing  eyes  and  little  fists 
clenched,  repeating  harshly,  "  You  swore  to  me  that 
you  would  be  with  him,  that  you  would  keep  him 
from  harm !  You  slunk  out  of  the  house  with  that 
promise  to  me — and  I  let  you  go — I  promised  to  say 
nothing  to  the  others.  What  have  you  done  with 
him?" 

"  He's  been  shot,"  gasped  the  Mouse,  "he  was " 

"Shot!"  whispered  Hilde. 

"  He  isn't  dead,"  growled  the  Mouse.  "  I  came  to 
find  Monsieur  Bourke,  but  when  I  went  to  the  rue 
d'Ypres  you  all  had  decamped.  Then,"  he  con 
tinued,  with  a  cringing  gesture,  "  I  started  to  look — 
and  quite  by  accident,  mademoiselle,  I  met  some 
friends — but  I  was  not  stealing!  "  he  whined,  glancing 
furtively  around,  "  no,  indeed,  I  stole  nothing  as  the 
others  did, — you  will  tell  Monsieur  Bourke  that  !  You 
will  tell  Monsieur  Bourke  I  was  not  pillaging  houses." 

"  Where  is  Monsieur  Harewood  ? "  interrupted 
Hilde. 

"  I  was  going  to  tell  you,"  said  the  Mouse,  submis 
sively.  "  I  was  going  to  tell  mademoiselle  that  Mon 
sieur  Harewood  is  in  the  casemates  of  the  Nanterre 
fort — very  sick  since  they  cut  the  bullet  out.  And  it 


THE   BOMBARDMENT.  301 

is  quite  true  I  was  not  pillaging.  God  is  my  witness. 
I  have  never  stolen  a  pin." 

He  looked  obliquely  at  Yolette,  snivelled  a  little, 
hitched  his  tattered  trousers  and  sniffed. 

Twice  Hilde  strove  to  speak,  but  her  colourless  lips 
scarcely  moved.  Yolette  put  one  arm  around  her  and 
turned  to  the  Mouse. 

"What  message  have  you  for  Monsieur  Bourke  ?  " 
she  asked.  "  Did  Monsieur  Harewood  not  send  a  mes 
sage  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Mouse.  "  He  wants  to  see  him.  It 
was  not  until  last  night  that  those  sacre  Prussians  gave 
me  a  chance  to  leave  the  fort.  We  have  been  there 
since  Le  Bourget,  when  Monsieur  was  shot  as  he  left 
the  church." 

He  did  not  add  that  he  had  half  carried,  half  dragged 
Harewood  across  the  Mollette  under  a  frenzied  fusi- 
lade  from  the  Prussian  pickets.  He  was  a  coward  as 
cowards  go  ;  his  very  ferocity  proved  it.  Yet  he  had 
instinctively  clung  to  Harewood,  when  a  bullet  through 
the  leg  knocked  him  sprawling  ;  he  had  hauled  him  out 
of  the  Prussian  fire  much  as  a  panther  hauls  its  young 
from  a  common  danger,  with  no  reason  in  the  world 
that  human  minds  could  fathom,  totally  unconscious 
that  he  deserved  credit.  The  Mouse  had  received 
Harewood's  thanks  with  ennui,  if  not  suspicion,  and 
now  it  never  occurred  to  him  to  say  that  he  had  saved 
Harewood's  life,  although,  like  most  criminals,  he  was 
a  keen  appreciator  of  the  dramatic.  No — what  occu 
pied  the  meagre  brain  of  the  Mouse  was  the  fear  that 
Bourke  might  return  and  learn  from  Hilde"  and  Yolette 
that  he,  the  Mouse,  had  been  looting. 

He  looked  sideways  at  Yolette,  who  was  leading 


302  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

Hilde"  to  the  bedroom.  He  listened  stupidly  to  the 
paroxysms  of  grief  when  Hilde  flung  herself  on  the 
bed.  That  was  all  very  confusing,  but  what  would 
Bourke  say  ?  He  looked  down  at  his  blackened  hands, 
at  the  bludgeon  still  gripped  in  one  bleeding  fist,  evi 
dences  of  his  share  in  the  riotous  night's  work. 

"  Mince  !  je  me  sauve !  "  he  blurted  out,  and  at  the 
same  moment  he  saw  Red  Riding  Hood  staring  at  him 
from  the  sofa. 

"  What  are  you  making  eyes  at — hein !  "  he  de 
manded  sullenly.  "  Perhaps  you  are  going  to  say  I 
was  pillaging  houses  !  " 

The  child,  seized  with  a  fit  of  shivering,  cowered 
against  the  wall,  drawing  her  feet  in  under  her  night 
dress. 

The  Mouse  regarded  her  fiercely,  twirling  his  blud 
geon  between  his  blackened  fingers.  Then,  apparently 
satisfied  that  she  was  too  terrified  to  understand,  he 
pulled  his  cap  over  his  sightless  eye,  put  the  bludgeon 
into  his  pocket,  and  started  toward  the  door.  Before 
he  went  out  he  hesitated.  The  sight  of  the  frightened 
child  seemed  to  exercise  a  certain  fascination  for  him. 
He  looked  back,  frowning,  just  to  see  whether  it  would 
frighten  her  a  little  more.  It  did ;  but,  strangely, 
enough,  her  fear  gave  him  no  gratification. 

"  Voyons,  petite,  do  I  scare  you?"  he  asked,  curi 
ously. 

"Yes,"  whispered  the  child.  A  curious  sensation, 
an  unaccustomed  thrill,  something  that  had  never 
before  come  over  him,  sent  the  blood  tingling  in  the 
Mouse's  large  ears.  He  peered  at  the  child  narrowly. 

"  Don't  look  like  that,"  he  said,  "  for  I  ain't  going 
to  hurt  you," 


THE   BOMBARDMENT.  303 

The  child  was  silent. 

"  You're  cold,"  said  the  Mouse,  awkwardly.  "  Go 
to  bed." 

"  I'm  afraid,"  she  whispered. 

"  Of  me  ?  "  asked  the  Mouse,  with  a  strange  sinking 
of  the  heart. 

"  Yes  ;  and  the  shells." 

"  I'll  knock  the  head  off  any  pig  of  a  Prussian  who 
harms  you,"  said  the  Mouse,  waving  his  club.  "You 
never  mind  the  shells,  they  won't  hurt  you.  Now  are 
you  afraid  of  me,  little  one  ?  " 

"  No,"  sighed  the  child.  A  glow  of  pleasure  suf 
fused  the  Mouse's  ears  again.  Then  he  felt  ashamed, 
then  he  looked  at  the  child,  then  he  wondered  why  he 
should  take  pleasure  in  telling  the  little  thing  not  to 
be  afraid.  For  a  while  they  contemplated  each  other 
in  silence ;  finally  the  child  said  :  "  When  you  were  in 
the  rue  d'Ypres,  I  used  to  make  you  split  wood.  Do 
you  remember?  " 

"Yes,"  said  the  Mouse,  much  gratified. 

"  And  you  were  afraid  of  the  lion,"  pursued  Red 
Riding  Hood. 

"  Dame,"  muttered  the  Mouse,  "  I  am  afraid  yet." 

The  child  laughed — such  a  sad,  thin  little  laugh. 
The  Mouse,  to  please  her,  made  an  awful  grimace  and 
winked  with  his  sightless  eye. 

"  Will  you  stay  with  us  now  ?  "  asked  the  child. 

The  innocent  question  completely  upset  the  Mouse; 
the  idea  that  he  was  wanted  anywhere,  the  sensa 
tion  of  protecting  anything,  was  so  new,  so  utterly 
astonishing,  that  even  his  habitual  suspicion  was 
carried  away  in  the  overwhelming  novelty  of  the  prop 
osition. 


304  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

Red  Riding  Hood  rose  from  the  sofa,  went  to  the  bed 
and  climbed  in,  then  turned  gravely  to  the  Mouse. 

"  Don't  let  anything  harm  us,"  she  said.  "  Good 
night." 

For  a  long  time  the  Mouse  stood  and  stared  at  the 
pale  little  face  on  the  pillow.  There  were  blue  circles 
under  the  closed  eyes ;  the  clustering  black  hair  cast 
shadows  over  the  hollow  temples.  The  exhaustion 
from  hunger,  fatigue  and  fright  brought  sleep  to  tired 
lids.  Even  when  Yolette  and  Hilde  came  in  the 
child  did  not  wake. 

"  I  am  going  to  stay,"  said  the  Mouse  sullenly  ;  "  if 
the  shells  come  the  little  girl  will  be  frightened." 

As  he  spoke  he  furtively  felt  for  some  purloined 
silver  forks  that  filled  one  pocket,  found  them  still 
there,  glanced  maliciously  at  Yolette,  and  coughed 
gently. 

"Where  is  the  Nanterre  fort?"  asked  Hilde, 
faintly. 

The  Mouse  explained  in  a  weird  whisper,  appar 
ently  much  relieved  that  nobody  offered  to  examine 
his  pockets. 

"Is  he  all  alone?  "said  Hilde. 

"  Parbleu  !  There's  not  much  society  in  the  case 
mates,"  observed  the  Mouse — "  no,  nor  many  surgeons 
to  spare.  I'm  going  back  to  him  to-morrow."  He 
said  it  indifferently ;  he  might  have  added  that  he 
was  going  at  the  risk  of  his  life,  but  risks  were  too 
common  at  that  time  to  occupy  the  attention  of  even 
such  a  coward  as  the  Mouse.  Wherever  he  went  there 
were  shells  and  bullets  and  bayonets  now,  and  it  mat 
tered  little  whether  they  were  French  or  Prussian. 

He  boldly    rattled  the   silver   forks  in    his    pocket, 


THE   BOMBARDMENT.  305 

leered,  pulled  his  cap  lower,  for  the  reflection  of  the 
flames  annoyed  him,  and  said  : 

"  A  la  guerre  comme,  a  la  guerre,  mesdames." 

At  the  same  moment  hurried  steps  sounded  on  the 
landing.  Yolette  opened  the  door  and  Bourke  en 
tered. 

When  he  saw  Yolette  and  Hilde,  he  could  not  speak 
at  first. 

"  Don't,  don't,"  sobbed  Yolette ;  "  we  are  all  safe 
— all  of  us.  It  was  you  that  I  feared  for.  O,  if  you 
knew  !  if  you  knew  !  " 

"  I  was  in  the  rue  d'Ypres,"  stammered  Bourke. 
"  The  shells  rained  on  the  ramparts,  and  I  ran  to  the 
Prince  Murat  barracks.  I  never  dreamed  they  were 
shelling  this  part  of  the  city  until  somebody  said  the 
Luxembourg  had  been  struck.  Then  I  came.  Yo 
lette,  look  at  me  !  Good  God,  what  a  fool  I  was ! " 

She  clung  around  his  neck,  smiling  and  weeping, 
telling  him  she  would  never  again  let  him  go  away. 
Hilde  was  silent.  The  Mouse  fidgetted  by  the  door. 
The  child  slept. 

Then  Hilde  spoke  of  Harewood,  of  his  message  sent 
by  the  Mouse.  Yolette  cried  out  that  she  could  not 
let  Cecil  go  away  again,  and  Bourke,  devoured  by 
anxiety,  questioned  the  Mouse  until  that  young  ban 
dit's  mind  was  a  hopeless  chaos. 

"  You  can't  ask  him  to  go,  Hilde,"  implored  her 
sister.  "  O,  how  can  you  ask  Cecil  to  go  to  the  forts, 
when  you  know  what  they  are  doing  out  there.  I 
can't  let  him  go — I  cannot !  " 

"  If  Jim  is  not  in  danger,  I  can  go  out  with  the  next 
escort,"  said  Bourke  gravely.  "  If  he  is,  then  I  must 
go  at  once." 


306  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

The  Mouse  was  vague ;  he  didn't  know  what  might 
happen  since  they  cut  out  the  bullet.  His  habitual 
distrust  of  doctors,  of  science  in  all  its  branches,  made 
it  plain  to  Bourke  that  there  was  nothing  accurate  to 
be  learned  from  him. 

The  Mouse  lingered  a  minute  or  two,  watching  the 
sleeping  child  in  the  bed.  Bourke  told  him  he  might 
go,  and  he  went,  as  a  dismissed  dog  goes,  apologetically, 
half  resentful,  half  conciliatory,  clutching  the  forks  in 
his  pocket  with  dirty  fingers.  Hild£  turned  and  went 
into  her  room,  closing  the  door  behind  her. 

"I  must  sleep  with  the  child,"  said  Yolette ;  "she 
wakes  in  the  night  and  trembles  so  I  almost  fear  she 
may  die  of  fright.  Cecil,  is  there  any  danger  now 
from  the  shells  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "  I  will  lie  down  in  the 
kitchen.  If  they  bombard  the  quarter  again  we  must 
go  to  the  cellar.  To-morrow  I  am  going  to  take  you 
and  Hild6  and  Red  Riding  Hood  to  the  American 
Minister.  And,  my  darling,  before  we  go,  you  must 
marry  me." 

"  Marry— now!  "  faltered  Yolette. 

"  Otherwise  the  American  Minister  cannot  protect 
you.  If  you  are  my  wife,  he  is  bound  to  do  so.  I 
can't  stand  this  sort  of  thing ;  the  city  has  gone  dis 
tracted  ;  nobody  is  safe  outside  an  embassy.  The 
Prussians  must  respect  our  flag,  dear,  and  anarchists 
and  kindred  ruffians  dare  not  enter  the  Legation. 
Shall  I  tell  you  what  has  happened  in  the  rue  d'Ypres  ? 
A  gang  of  communists,  cutthroats  and  thieves  have 
broken  open  our  house  and  are  carousing  in  the  cellar 
with  our  red  wine.  Stauffer,  Mortier  and  Buckhurst 
are  there,  and  they  will  do  us  mischief  if  they  have  a 
chance." 


THE   BOMBARDMENT.  3O/ 

He  drew  her  head  down  to  his  shoulder. 

"  Will  you  marry  me  to-morrow,  Yolette  ? "  he 
asked,  "  so  that  I  can  leave  you  safe  at  the  Legation 
and  go  to  my  friend  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  whispered,  then  threw  both  arms  about 
him  in  a  passion  of  tenderness  and  fear. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

AN   UNDERGROUND   AFFAIR. 

WHEN  the  Mouse  left  the  rue  Serpente,  the  bom 
bardment  had  shifted  to  the  southern  forts,  and  the 
southeast  secteurs  of  the  fortifications  were  covered 
with  exploding  shells.  As  he  slunk  across  the  city  he 
could  hear  the  fracas  of  the  distant  bombardment,  and 
he  gave  the  danger  zone  wide  berth.  His  mind  was 
preoccupied  by  two  problems,  how  to  conceal  his  silver 
forks  and  how  to  get  back  to  the  Nanterre  fort. 

The  second  problem  could  wait  till  morning,  the 
first  needed  serious  study.  He  already  possessed  one 
burrow.  It  was  in  the  cellar  of  the  house  in  the  rue 
d'Ypres.  For,  while  doing  menial  service  for  Bourke 
and  Harewood,  he  had  managed  to  abstract  booty 
from  neighbouring  windows — a  spoon  here,  a  silk  hand 
kerchief  there — nothing  much,  but  still  a  modest  little 
heap  of  plunder,  which  he  had  concealed  in  the  cellar  of 
the  house  on  the  ramparts.  Therefore,  his  first  in 
stinct  led  him  back  to  the  rue  d'Ypres,  where,  if  the 
cachette  in  the  cellar  remained  undisturbed,  he  could 
further  avail  himself  of  it  by  depositing  the  forks  with 
the  rest  of  the  loot. 

"Thrift,"  muttered  the  Mouse,  "cannot  be  too 
early  acquired.  Sapristi  !  One  must  live — in  this 
world  of  bandits  !  " 


AN   UNDERGROUND   AFFAIR.  309 

As  he  crossed  the  boulevard  Montparnasse  he  saw 
that  the  railroad  station  was  on  fire.  For  a  moment 
he  hesitated — there  might  be  fine  pickings  yonder — 
but  prudence  prevailed,  and  he  shambled  on,  scanning 
the  passers-by  with  crafty  face  half  averted,  bludgeon 
swinging,  cap  over  one  eye,  the  incarnation  of  com 
munism  militant.  Affrighted  citizens  gave  him  room, 
turned  and  looked  after  him  as  though  in  him  they 
saw  the  symbol  of  all  that  was  secret  and  dreadful 
in  the  city — the  embodied  shape  of  anarchy — the  omi 
nous  prophet  of  revolution. 

He  passed  on,  swaggering  when  prudent,  cringing 
when  the  sentries  of  the  guard,  pacing  the  devastated 
streets,  halted  to  look  after  him,  lanterns  raised. 
At  such  moments  he  cursed  them  as  loud  as  he  dared  ; 
sometimes,  when  far  enough  away,  he  would  insult 
them  with  gestures  and  epithets,  gratifying  to  his 
vanity  because  of  the  slight  risk  such  amusement  en 
tailed.  He  rattled  the  forks  in  his  pocket  as  he 
walked  ;  once  or  twice  he  broke  into  song — a  doggerel 
verse  or  two  of  some  sentimental  faubourg  ditty  that 
attracted  him,  because,  like  criminals  of  his  type,  he 
adored  sentiment — in  song.  He  thought  of  Harewood 
lying  in  the  casemates  of  the  Nanterre  fort.  Would 
he  live  or  die  ?  His  wound  had  turned  so  bad  that 
the  surgeons  began  to  look  at  him  in  that  musing  way 
that  even  the  dying  understand. 

The  Mouse  scratched  his  ear;  dead  or  alive  he  must 
find  his  way  back  to  Harewood ;  for  the  necessity  that 
he  felt  for  Harewood's  company  left  him  restless  as  a 
lost  cur. 

He  thought  often  of  Red  Riding  Hood.  She  was 
so  small  and  thin  and  so  afraid  of  him  that  he  won- 


310  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

dered  why  he  thought  of  her  at  all.  In  his  burrow  he 
had  buried  an  infant's  silver  cup.  This  he  decided  to 
present  to  Red  Riding  Hood  when  he  could  do  so 
without  fear  of  aspersions  on  his  honesty.  He 
chuckled  as  he  thought  how  it  would  please  the  child 
— she  would  look  at  him  with  those  big  eyes — she 
would  perhaps  smile — Nom  de  Dieu — what  a  droll 
young  one !  And  so  he  came  to  the  house  on  the 
ramparts  in  the  rue  d'Ypres. 

The  cellar  of  the  house  was  reached  from  the  garden 
through  a  flight  of  stone  steps.  The  heavy  slab  that 
closed  the  manhole  had  no  padlock. 

The  Mouse,  on  his  hands  and  knees,  groped  about 
in  the  dark,  stumbling  among  dead  weeds  and  broken 
cucumber  frames,  puffing  and  cursing,  until,  without 
any  warning,  he  almost  fell  into  the  manhole  itself. 
Startled,  alert,  he  crouched  breathless  by  the  slab  on 
the  grass.  Somebody  had  removed  it ;  somebody, 
then,  was  in  the  cellar ! 

Stealthily  he  crawled  into  the  manhole,  and  de 
scended  the  first  three  steps.  His  worn  shoes  made 
no  noise  ;  he  crept  three  steps  further. 

At  the  end  of  the  cellar,  in  the  full  light  of  a  lan 
tern  on  the  floor,  sat  three  men.  Two  of  them  wore 
the  uniforms  of  officers  of  the  carbiniers;  the  third 
was  in  civilian  dress.  Their  voices  were  indistinct,  but 
their  features  were  not,  and  the  Mouse  fairly  bristled 
as  he  recognised  them.  They  were  Stauffer,  Mortier 
and  Buckhurst. 

The  first  thought  of  the  Mouse  was  instinctively 
personal.  They  had  come  to  rob  him  of  his  plunder  ! 
It  was  that,  rather  than  curiosity,  that  led  him  to  creep 
toward  them,  nearer,  nearer,  wriggle  behind  a  barrel, 


AN    UNDERGROUND   AFFAIR.  311 

and  crawl  so  close  that,  with  outstretched  arm,  he 
could  have  stabbed  Mortier — if  Mortier  had  been  alone. 

Buckhurst,  pale-faced,  calm,  bent  his  colourless  eyes 
on  Mortier,  and  spoke  in  the  passionless  voice  that 
always  struck  a  chill  to  the  Mouse's  marrow : 

"  Monsieur  Mortier,  you  misunderstand  me.  lam 
not  in  this  city  for  my  health,  nor  am  I  here  to  preach 
the  Commune.  There  is  but  one  thing  I  am  looking 
for — money — and  I  don't  care  how  I  get  it  or  where  I 
get  it.  Prussian  thalers  or  French  francs,  it's  all  one 
to  me." 

Mortier  raised  his  hideous  head  and  fixed  his  little 
green  eyes  on  the  bloodless  face  before  him. 

"  One  minute,"  said  Buckhurst,  "  then  I've  finished. 
Not  to  waste  words,  the  situation  is  this :  Captain 
Stauffer  has  arranged  to  open  the  Nanterre  fort  to  the 
Prussians  ;  I  have  agreed  to  run  a  tunnel  from  this 
cellar,  under  the  street,  to  the  bastion  where  the 
Prophet  is — I  think  it's  bastion  No.  73.  Powder  ex 
ploded  in  the  tunnel  opens  a  breach  in  the  ramparts, 
directly  behind  the  Nanterre  fort.  Do  you  compre 
hend?" 

He  paused  a  moment,  then  added :  "  For  this  we 
divide  500,000  thalers." 

Stauffer  began  to  speak  eagerly,  his  weak  face 
lighting  up  as  he  proceeded. 

"  It  was  Speyer's  plan  ;  he  had  it  in  view  before  war 
was  declared  last  July.  He  and  I  lodged  in  this  house 
and  planned  it  all  out — even  to  excavating  the  tunnel 
to  bastion  No.  73 — damn  the  man  who  knocked  him 
on  the  head.  But  we  can  do  it  alone — all  we  want  of 
you  is  to  help  with  the  tunnel.  It  will  be  worth  your 
while — really  it  will !  " 


312  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

Mortier's  eyes  seemed  to  grow  incandescent ;  the 
great  veins  swelled  out  on  his  bald  dome-shaped  head, 
his  throat,  under  the  red  flannel  rags,  moved  convul 
sively. 

As  he  spoke  he  rose.  Buckhurst,  with  the  easy 
grace  of  a  panther,  rose,  too.  Stauffer  lumbered  to 
his  feet  and  began  to  speak  again,  but  Mortier 
silenced  him  and  turned  on  Buckhurst  like  a  wild 
beast. 

"  I  refuse  !  "  he  shouted.  "  I  am  an  anarchist,  not 
a  traitor !  I  kill,  I  destroy,  I  burn.  I  murder  if 
necessary,  but  I  will  not  betray — no,  not  for  all  the 
thalers  in  the  kingdom  of  Prussia  !  " 

His  eyes  glittered  with  the  light  of  insanity.  His 
misshapen  hands  menaced  Buckhurst. 

"Judas!"  he  shrieked.  "The  Commune  shall  rise 
and  live  to  judge  you  !  Cursed  son  of  a  free  people! 
Renegade  !  Thief !  " 

There  was  a  flash,  a  report,  and  Mortier  clapped 
his  hands  to  his  face,  which  the  blood  suddenly 
covered.  The  next  moment  he  was  at  Buckhurst's 
throat,  bore  him  down,  twined  him  closer  in  his  long, 
ape-like  arms,  and  fastened  his  teeth  in  his  throat ; 
and  Buckhurst  shot  him  again  and  again,  through  the 
body.  They  swayed  and  fell  together,  the  deadly 
light  died  in  Buckhurst's  glazing  eyes.  After  a  min 
ute  neither  moved  again. 

Stauffer  had  gone,  fleeing  like  one  distracted,  when 
the  Mouse  crawled  out  into  the  lantern  light  and 
gazed  down  at  the  dead. 

Presently  he  picked  up  the  lantern,  grubbed  a  hole 
in  the  ground,  deposited  his  forks  with  the  rest  of 
his  booty,  rose,  glanced  at  the  dead  again,  and  picked 


AN   UNDERGROUND   AFFAIR.  313 

up  the  lantern.  He  spat  on  the  ground — for  Buck- 
hurst  had  tricked  him  once — so  he  insulted  the  corpse 
with  a  contemptuous  gesture  and  went  out,  swinging 
his  lantern  and  sneering. 

"  Give  up  the  Nanterre  fort,  eh  ? "  he  repeated, 
mimicking  Stauffer's  effeminate  voice  :  "  O,  ma  saeur! 
O,  la  la  !  A  nous  deux,  monsieur  pipelet — a  demain !  " 

The  Prophet  was  firing  as  the  Mouse  left  the  city  by 
the  Porte  Rouge  ;  he  looked  up  at  the  great  cannon 
and  mocked  it :  "  Tiens  !  bourn  !  bourn  !  bourn  !  O,  la 
la !  O,  Seigneur  Dieu  ! — que  la  guerre  est  ridicule  tout 
d'meme ! " 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

THE   NIGHT   OF  ATONEMENT. 

THAT  night,  the  zone  of  bombardment  having 
shifted  far  to  the  southwest,  Bourke  went  to  the 
American  Legation.  It  was  eleven  o'clock  when  he 
returned,  thoroughly  discouraged.  He  had  seen  the 
Minister,  but  that  official  could  do  nothing  to  protect 
Yolette  and  Hilde  against  the  shell-fire.  There  was 
no  room  at  the  Legation.  It  was  not  even  certain 
that  the  Legation  itself  would  be  safe,  although  the 
Minister,  in  some  heat,  denounced  those  responsible 
for  the  bombardment,  and  promised  to  protest  against 
the  destruction  of  foreign  consulates  and  embassies. 
So  Bourke  came  back  to  the  rue  Serpente,  worried 
and  anxious,  for  it  was  not  possible  for  him  to  go  to 
the  Nanterre  fort,  and  leave  Yolette  and  Hilde  alone, 
without  the  protection  of  responsible  people.  He 
and  Yolette  sat  up  late  into  the  night,  discussing  the 
situation.  Hilde  lay  on  the  bed,  listening,  perhaps, 
but  she  offered  no  suggestions.  About  midnight  Red 
Riding  Hood  awoke,  sobbing  from  hunger,  and 
Yolette  comforted  the  child,  saying  good-night  to 
Bourke,  and  kissing  her  sister  tenderly. 

"  Listen,  Hilde,"  she  said ;  "  Cecil  is  going  to  the 
Nanterre  fort,  so  you  must  not  be  so  sad,  my  darling. 
Look  up  at  me,  little  sister.  I  am  not  selfish  and 
heartless,  after  all.  Cecil  must  go." 


THE   NIGHT   OF   ATONEMENT.  31$ 

"  I  will  go  as  soon  as  you  and  Hilde  are  in  safe 
quarters,"  began  Bourke ;  but  Hilde  sat  up  on  the 
bed  and  forbade  him  to  go.  "  It  is  enough  that  one 
life  is  in  danger,"  she  said;  "your  place  is  here,  with 
Yolette.  You  can  do  nothing  for  him  ;  he  is  in  the 
casemates  and  under  medical  attendance.  What 
could  you  do?  " 

"  I  shall  go  when  I  see  you  and  Yolette  secure," 
repeated  Bourke. 

"Secure?  How?"  asked  Hild<§  bitterly.  "Your 
embassy  has  no  room  for  us  ;  and  do  you  think  Mon 
sieur  Bismarck  will  order  his  cannoniers  to  respect  any 
part  of  the  city  ?  The  people  in  the  street  say  that 
convents  and  hospitals  have  been  struck  repeatedly. 
Have  the  Prussians  not  sent  their  shells  into  the 
crowded  streets  of  the  poor?  " 

It  was  the  first  time  that  Yolette  had  ever  heard 
Hilde  speak  with  bitterness.  Bourke,  too,  looked  at 
her  sharply,  wondering  at  the  change  in  the  gentle 
reserved  girl  he  had  known. 

"  No,"  continued  Hilde  rapidly,  "  no  !  no  !  no  ! — 
the  Prussians  spare  neither  young  nor  old,  man  nor 
woman  !  You  cannot  go,  Cecil ;  Yolette  needs  you 
now,  if  ever." 

She  rose,  putting  her  arms  around  Yolette,  saying  : 
"  Dearest,  he  must  not  go  to  the  Nanterre  fort.  It  is 
wrong  for  him  to  leave  you  ;  it  is  wrong  for  him  to 
expose  his  life." 

"  Confound  it !  "  said  Bourke,  helplessly,  "  I'd  go  to 
him  if  he  were  at  the  south  pole,  but  I  can't  leave 
Yolette  in  danger ;  my  skin  is  no  longer  my  own  to 
risk." 

"Nor  was  his,"  said  Hilde,  gravely;  and  she  went 
into  her  own  room  and  closed  the  door. 


3l6  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

The  night  was  bitter  cold ;  the  frost  covered  the 
window-panes  with  moss-like  tracery,  silvered  by  a 
pale  radiance  from  without.  And  Hilde,  opening  the 
window,  looked  off  over  the  dark  city  and  saw  the 
midnight  heavens,  blazing  with  stars.  Her  cheeks 
were  burning  now  ;  the  icy  air  seemed  grateful.  After 
a  little  she  closed  the  window,  fearing  the  cold  might 
harm  the  others.  But  there  was  a  short  ladder  in  the 
hallway,  leading  to  the  scuttle,  and  she  found  it  and 
climbed  up  and  out  onto  the  roof.  Her  hot  cheeks 
and  aching  eyes  grew  no  cooler  in  the  freezing  wind. 
She  even  threw  back  her  shawl  and  bared  her  white 
throat. 

The  heavens  were  resplendent ;  the  tremendous  sky- 
vault,  far  arching,  fathomless,  was  dusted  with  myriads 
of  stars,  among  which,  deep  set,  the  splendid  planets 
blazed,  and  the  gigantic  constellations  traced  their 
signs  in  arcs  and  angles  and  gem-set  circles  that 
spanned  the  diamond-showered  heavens  from  horizon 
to  horizon. 

Spire  on  spire  the  city  towered,  domed,  battle- 
mented,  magnificent  in  the  starlight — the  beautiful, 
sinful  city,  whose  lacelike  spires  and  slender  pinnacles 
rose  from  squares  and  streets  where  men  lay  dying  by 
the  score  for  lack  of  bread.  There  was  starlight  on 
the  bridges,  on  the  quays,  on  the  carved  facades  of 
palaces,  on  the  strange  towers  of  Saint  Sulpice. 

The  jewelled  spire  of  the  Sainte  Chapelle,  the  silvery 
dome  of  the  Invalides,  the  grotesque  gothic  tower  of 
Saint  Jacques,  loomed  distinctly  from  the  endless  mass 
of  house  and  palace,  monument  and  church.  In  the 
east  an  enormous  bulk  detached  itself  against  the  sky 
— the  Pantheon  !  In  the  north  the  stupendous  twin 


THE    NIGHT   OF   ATONEMENT.  317 

towers  of  Notre  Dame  dominated  the  shadow  shapes 
of  roof  and  chimney.  And,  through  the  world  of 
shade  and  shadowy  silhouette,  wound  the  star-tinted, 
ghostly  river — a  phantom  tide  spanned  by  a  score  of 
fairy  bridges,  impalpable,  vague,  ghostly  as  their  own 
reflections  in  the  frozen,  ice-bound  stream. 

And  now,  far  beyond  the  walls,  Hilde  could  see  the 
forts.  The  tiny  flashes  ran  from  east  to  west,  then 
south,  then  back  again,  a  living  chain  of  sparks.  The 
cannons'  solid  thunder  rolled  and  surged  majestically, 
wave  after  wave,  harmonious,  interminable.  On  the 
heights  of  Meudon,  Clamart  and  Chatillon  the  flicker 
of  the  Prussian  guns  ran  parallel  to  the  flashes  from 
the  forts  of  the  south  and  west ;  their  shells  were  fall 
ing  on  the  Point  du  Jour. 

Hilde  could  see  the  bright  reflections  of  fires  along 
the  frozen  river,  the  red  smoke,  the  nearer  blast  from 
the  great  guns  on  the  ramparts.  Overhead  raced  the 
shells,  streaming  by  with  kindling  wakes  of  sparks 
dropping  and  fading  one  by  one.  Then,  from  Mont- 
Valerien  the  rockets  towered  to  the  zenith  and  drifted 
and  faded  while  the  Point  du  Jour  answered,  rocket 
on  rocket,  and  the  bastions  re-echoed  with  the  double 
thunder  of  the  shotted  guns. 

Could^  that  be  real  war? — this  Venetian  fete  of 
coloured  fires,  rockets,  illuminations,  dull  reports? 
Hark  !  The  jar  of  a  great  iron  bell  came  quavering 
over  the  city.  The  faint  rattle  of  drums  broke  out 
across  the  river — the  tocsin  and  the  alarm  !  Hilde" 
did  not  hear  them.  She  was  talking  to  herself,  under 
her  breath,  counting  the  forts  on  her  slender  fingers : 
Issy,  Vanves,  Mont-Valerien,  Saint  Denis.  O,  then 
there  must  lie  the  Nanterre  fort — there  where  the 


318  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

darkness  is  shot  with  streak  after  streak  of  flame  !  At 
last  she  knew. 

The  fort  was  silent  now,  but  within  her  breast  a 
voice  spoke.  And  she  listened,  leaning  from  the  iron 
railing.  She  knew  that  God's  justice  was  passing — 
passing  in  fire  through  the  heavens  above  the  city — 
the  fair  city,  brought  low  in  shame.  For  the  night  of 
atonement  was  at  hand. 

Atonement !  The  sad  knell  rang  through  her  brain, 
ominous,  sonorous  and  the  solemn  tocsin  bore  it  on, 
intoning  atonement,  atonement ! 

At  first  she  wept,  leaning  on  the  icy  parapet ;  for 
the  justice  of  God  is  a  fearful  thing,  and  she  was 
young.  But  her  tears  froze  on  her  cheeks,  and  she 
went  down  through  the  house,  and  out,  and  far  into 
the  city  to  the  gates.  They  would  not  let  her  pass. 
She  came  back  through  the  blind,  dead  avenues,  see 
ing  nothing,  hearing  nothing,  until,  at  her  own  door, 
she  paused,  her  hand  on  the  wall,  her  listless  eyes 
closed.  It  was  dawn.  Red  Riding  Hood  came  out 
with  a  covered  basket,  to  take  her  place  in  the  line  at 
the  butcher's. 

Hilde"  smiled  when  she  saw  her,  and,  stooping,  kissed 
the  child.  "  Tell  them  I  have  gone  to  the  Nanterre 
fort,"  she  said. 

So  she  went  away  into  the  city,  to  the  gates  again, 
where  cavalry  were  passing.  And  she  passed  out 
among  the  horses  and  the  troopers.  Nobody  told  her 
the  road.  At  a  crossway,  in  the  centre  of  a  dismantled 
hamlet,  the  stupid,  freezing  troopers  wheeled  to  the 
west.  Hilde  kept  on,  her  white  face  fixed  on  the 
road.  The  fiery  dawn  came  up  behind  the  Fortress  of 
the  East,  the  bombardment  ceased  as  the  sun  ap- 


THE   NIGHT   OF    ATONEMENT.  319 

peared,  but  from  the  forts  the  smoke  rifts  fled  away 
and  the  guns  flashed  steadily,  pounding  the  heights  of 
Chatillon  and  the  parapets  of  Saint  Cloud,  where  the 
sullen  Prussian  artillery  lay  breathless,  waiting  for  the 
night  again  to  strike.  The  frozen  road  seemed  endless. 
The  devastated,  treeless  fields  stretched  flat  on  either 
hand.  To  Hilde  they  seemed  burning  with  the  glitter 
of  the  sun,  kindling  each  ice-crystal  to  a  living  coal. 
Her  tired,  hot  eyes  drooped,  her  feet  dragged,  but  the 
fever  in  her  breast  gave  her  no  rest,  and  she  moved  on, 
unconscious  of  her  exhaustion. 

There  were  men  who  called  to  her  at  times ;  she 
saw  they  were  soldiers,  but  she  neither  heard  nor  an 
swered  their  hoarse  hails.  Perhaps  the  pickets  thought 
she  was  some  crazed,  starved  young  thing  whose  suf 
fering  had  driven  her  from  the  doomed  city  ;  perhaps 
they  took  her  for  a  nurse,  for  she  still  wore  the  grey 
wool  and  the  red-cross  band  above  her  elbow. 

A  squad  of  Franc-tireurs,  outside  the  outposts, 
called  to  her  to  go  back.  She  did  not  even  taise  her 
head.  A  peasant,  crouched  before  a  fire  in  a  ditch 
by  the  roadside,  warned  her  that  Uhlans  had  been 
there  the  night  before.  She  looked  at  him  and  passed 
on. 

There  was  a  shell  of  a  blackened  village  beyond  her 
— a  mere  hamlet,  charred,  crumbling,  half-hidden  in 
the  snow.  She  entered  the  main  street,  dragging  her 
tired  little  feet  over  burnt  timbers  and  piles  of  brick 
and  stone.  Twice  she  stumbled  to  her  knees,  but  she 
rose  and  went  on,  her  grey  skirt  powdered  with  snow. 
There  was  a  man  in  the  street,  walking  ahead — a  sol 
dier.  He  heard  her  and  waited  for  her.  It  was  some 
minutes  after  he  had  dropped  alongside  that  she 


320  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

heard  him  talking,  but  even  then  she  did  not  look  at 
him  until  he  took  hold  of  her  arm,  still  talking  and 
grimacing. 

The  man  was  Stauffer.  He  still  had  her  arm  ;  she 
wrenched  it  away  and  moved  faster,  but  he  followed 
and  held  her  back.  From  sheer  weakness  she  fell  to 
her  knees ;  then  she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  crying 
as  though  her  heart  would  break.  She  could  scarcely 
rise  again  ;  her  head  swam  and  the  glare  on  the  snow 
sickened  her. 

She  noticed  there  were  two  men  beside  her  now  ; 
how  the  other  came  she  did  not  know,  but  she  saw, 
with  no  surprise,  that  one  of  them  was  the  Mouse.  He 
had  the  other  man  by  the  arm  and  was  leading  him 
back  toward  Paris.  "  Tiens ! "  said  the  Mouse ; 
"  Captain  Stauffer — here,  don't  run  away — Captain 
Stauffer,  you  area  little  rough  with  ladies — come,  now, 
admit  you  are  a  little  ardent — eh,  captain?" 

Stauffer  turned  a  frightened  face  to  the  Mouse. 
"What  are  you  doing?"  he  cried,  struggling;  "  let 
go!" 

"Come  on,"  said  the  Mouse  amiably,  "let  us  get 
around  this  house — so — where  the  lady  can't  see  us. 
It  might  frighten  her." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  stammered  Stauffer,  wrench 
ing  himself  free  and  turning  toward  the  road  again. 

"  Wait  !  "  said  the  Mouse,  barring  his  way.  "  I 
want  to  tell  you  something  amusing.  Do  you  re 
member  giving  me  a  German  gold  piece  to  march  with 
you  and  your  carbiniers  on  the  Hotel  de  Ville  ?  Bon  ! 
You  said  it  was  for  plunder.  You  lied  :  it  was  for 
Monsieur  Bismarck  !  " 

Stauffer  took  a  step  backward  and  drew  a  revolver; 


THE   NIGHT   OF    ATONEMENT.  321 

the  Mouse  cleared  the  space  between  them  at  a  single 
bound  ;  there  was  a  shriek,  a  flurry  of  snow. 

The  Mouse  stepped  back,  wiping  his  red  knife  on 
his  trousers. 

"  Now  go  and  sell  the  Nanterre  fort,"  he  sneered. 

Stauffer,  stabbed  through  and  through,  rolled  in  the 
snow,  trying  to  rise. 

"  Go  and  sell  Paris.  Hurry  or  you'll  be  late,"  said 
the  Mouse,  moving  off.  The  miserable  wounded 
wretch  dragged  himself  after  him,  calling  for  mercy, 
moaning  and  sobbing,  praying  he  might  not  be  left  to 
freeze  in  the  snow.  He  followed  the  Mouse  on  his 
hands  and  knees,  agonized  face  raised.  The  Mouse 
hesitated,  watching  the  writhing  creature  askance. 
Then  he  went  back  and  destroyed  him. 

When  he  came  up  with  Hilde  again,  he  said  noth 
ing.  She  neither  looked  at  him  nor  spoke  to  him,  for 
already,  over  the  snowy  plain,  her  strained  eyes  were 
fixed  on  a  low  hill  that  rose  black  and  solitary  from 
the  spotless  level.  The  Nanterre  fort ! 

The  Mouse  saw  it,  too. 

Fringing  smoke  draped  the  battlements,  where, 
from  an  angle  hidden  on  the  hillside,  a  mortar  fired 
slowly.  Other  guns,  concealed  by  the  rocks  in  the 
rear  of  the  fort,  sent  the  smoke  whirling  up  over  the 
citadel,  obscuring  the  flag  flying  there  until  a  current 
of  wind  revealed  it  again. 

On  they  went,  on,  on,  and  still  on.  The  fort  seemed 
no  nearer.  They  crossed  a  dismantled  railroad  track 
covered  with  snow.  The  Mouse  slipped  on  the 
twisted  rails  and  rose  swearing. 

The  sun  beat  down  on  the  expanse  of  ice  and  snow ; 
the  reflection  was  intolerable.  Once,  far  out  on  the 


322  ASHES   OF  EMPIRE. 

plain,  something  dark  appeared.  The  Mouse  knew 
what  it  was,  and  he  halted,  shaking  from  head  to  foot. 
But  the  squad  of  Uhlans  either  did  not  see  them,  or 
else  feared  a  shot  from  the  gatlings  on  the  glacis  of 
the  fort,  for  they  disappeared  after  awhile,  followed 
by  the  hearty  curses  of  the  Mouse. 

About  noon,  when  the  fort  seemed  within  stone's 
throw,  a  picket  hailed  them  from  a  hillock  to  the  left. 

"  Volunteer  nurse  and  attendant !  "  bawled  the 
Mouse  in  answer  to  the  summons. 

Twenty  minutes  later  they  were  climbing  an  icy 
road  that  wound  up  the  hillside.  Dense  thickets 
screened  it  ;  squads  of  artillerymen  in  sleeveless  sheep 
skin  coats  passed,  scarcely  noticing  them.  The  road 
took  abrupt  angles.  Each  angle  was  covered  by  a  can 
non.  Gatlings  and  mitrailleuses  glimmered  behind 
parapets  jutting  from  the  rock ;  long  field  pieces 
peered  through  abatis  work  on  every  side.  Two  great 
iron  gates  were  passed,  the  sentries  falling  back  and 
saluting  the  red  cross  on  Hilde's  sleeve.  Then  they 
turned  into  a  level  street,  paved,  decorated  with  lamps, 
running  between  solid  walls  of  masonry.  Another 
iron  gate  admitted  them  to  a  square,  also  paved,  and 
faced  in  with  barracks  of  grey  stone,  badly  shattered. 

"  You  can  cross  the  parade,"  said  the  artilleryman 
on  guard,  pointing  with  his  sabre.  "  The  Prussians 
only  bombard  us  at  night." 

"  Follow,"  said  the  Mouse,  briefly,  and  Hilde"  fol 
lowed  across  the  parade,  where  squads  of  soldiers 
were  repairing  the  barracks,  through  a  narrow  alley, 
deep  set  between  towering  ramparts,  into  another 
court,  down  flight  after  flight  of  broad  stone  steps, 
then  into  an  arcade,  dimly  lighted  by  lanterns  and 


THE   NIGHT   OF   ATONEMENT.  323 

crowded  with  soldiers,  moving  about  aimlessly.  Just 
above  them  a  cannon  thundered,  shaking  the  ground 
under  their  feet. 

"  We're  almost  there,"  said  the  Mouse,  peering  at 
Hilde's  bloodless  face. 

He  pushed  open  a  door  in  the  wall  ;  a  lantern 
lighted  the  darkness.  There  were  some  beds  there, 
half  obscured.  Around  one  a  screen  was  pulled. 

"  That's  not  it — he  isn't  dying,"  muttered  the 
Mouse  ;  "  I  think  he's  in  that  other  bed." 

Then  he  raised  a  whining  voice  : 

"Monsieur!  " 

In  the  half-light  a  head  stirred  on  a  pillow,  was 
raised — then  came  a  cry,  "  Hilde  !  " 

And  Hilde  fell  beside  the  bed  and  laid  her  tired 
head  in  Harewood's  arms. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 
THE  SONG  OF  THE   MOUSE. 

ON  the  twenty-sixth  of  January,  a  few  minutes  after 
seven  in  the  evening,  the  artillery  officers  on  the  Nan- 
terre  fort  reported  signals  from  Paris  to  cease  firing. 
From  Charenton  to  Issy,  from  Saint  Denis  to  Vin- 
cennes,  the  signals  flew;  the  cannonade  died  out  at  Ivry, 
at  Romainville,  at  Saint  Ouen  ;  the  fort  of  Issy,  the 
Montrouge  fort,  the  Fortress  of  the  East,  the  battery  of 
the  Double  Crown  lay  silent  under  their  floating  crowns 
of  cloud.  One  by  one  the  forts  of  the  east  grew  quiet, 
the  last  bombs  soared  upward  from  Vanves,  the  last 
shots  boomed  along  the  Point  du  Jour.  A  deathly 
stillness  followed  ;  then,  as  the  bells  in  the  distant  city 
tinkled  midnight,  a  clap  of  thunder  burst  from  Mont- 
Vale~rien.  That  was  the  end.  Paris  had  surrendered. 

At  dawn,  through  a  cold  grey  mist  that  sheeted  the 
desolate  plain,  two  Prussian  Uhlans  rode  to  the  foot 
of  the  fortressed  hill.  The  sad  notes  of  the  trumpet 
sounded  nearer  and  nearer;  the  mournful  echoes 
started  along  the  rocks  ;  the  drawbridge  fell. 

Hilde,  leaning  from  the  iron  door  of  the  bomb- 
proofs,  saw  a  tall,  red-whiskered  Uhlan  officer,  blind 
folded,  crossing  the  parade  conducted  by  four  Mobiles, 
rifles  slung.  Behind  this  Prussian  officer  marched  an 
Uhlan  trumpeter,  escorted  by  four  more  Mobiles. 
The  trumpeter's  eyes  were  also  bound  with  a  white 


THE   SONG   OF   THE   MOUSE.  325 

handkerchief,  his  trumpet  rested  on  his  right  thigh; 
in  his  left  hand  he  bore  a  lance,  from  which  drooped  a 
white  flag. 

All  that  day  she  sat  beside  Harewood,  listening  to 
the  heavy  tread  of  troops,  the  hushed  commands,  the 
creak  of  siege-guns,  swinging  inward  from  the  ram 
parts. 

At  noon,  the  Uhlans  left,  blindfolded,  reconducted 
in  silence  by  famine-stricken  soldiers.  Again  the 
melancholy  trumpet  sounded  the  salute,  then  stillness 
fell  over  rampart  and  glacis,  bastion  and  parapet — a 
quiet  so  profound  that  Hilde,  lying  in  the  chair  by 
the  bedside,  heard  the  flapping  of  the  flag  on  its  iron 
staff  above  the  citadel.  In  the  starlight  she  saw  the 
sentinels  standing  before  the  magazine,  the  corv6e 
winding  down  to  the  frozen  reservoir,  the  rare  lan 
terns  dimly  burning  as  an  officer  made  his  noiseless 
rounds.  She  leaned  over  the  bed,  listening  for  a 
while. 

"Are  you  awake,  my  darling?"  He  stirred  in  his 
sleep  and  held  out  one  hand.  She  took  it  in  both  her 
own.  There  was  a  dimly  lighted  lamp  in  a  steel 
socket  above  her  head.  Presently  she  rose,  still  hold 
ing  his  hand  in  one  of  hers,  and  turned  the  wick 
higher. 

"  The  crutches  are  finished,"  she  said,  returning  to 
her  seat  by  the  bed  ;  "a  Breton  in  the  Mobiles  made 
them  for  you.  You  must  remember  to  thank  him. 
He  took  a  great  deal  of  trouble  ;  there  was  no  wood — 
so  he  filed  off  two  lance  shafts,  and  made  the  arm 
rests  out  of  wire  and  leather." 

After  a  pause  she  whispered:  "Jim,  are  you 
awake  ?  " 


326  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

He  laid  his  cheek  against  her  hand  in  silence. 

"  What  is  it  ?  Are  you  still  unhappy,  you  foolish 
boy?" 

He  tried  to  answer ;  his  voice  failed. 

"  O,  my  darling,"  she  said,  despairingly  :  "how  can 
you  feel  so  after  all  that  has  been  said  ?  " 

She  stooped  nearer,  touching  his  hair  with  her  lips. 

"  I  have  forgiven  you — there  was  but  one  thing  for 
me  to  forgive,  for  it  is  true  that  you  should  not  have 
gone  away  ;  if  death  had  come,  you  were  not  fit  to 
die — nor  I,  my  darling." 

She  kissed  his  closed  eyes  ;  the  lashes  trembled. 

"  We  were  so  much  in  love,"  she  said,  "  so  much  in 
love — and  I  knew  nothing — you  can  never  know,  Jim 
— how  I  love  you — and  it  was  even  then — from  the 
very  first — the  same — the  same  adoration  !  And,  Jim, 
if  you  had  died,  and  although  I  know  the  dreadful  end 
— I  would  not  have  lost  the  memory  of  one  hour,  one 
second,  one  look,  or  one  caress." 

He  tried  to  speak  ;  he  could  not.  Again,  through 
his  closed  lids,  he  saw  her  as  she  had  come  to  him, 
fainting,  exhausted,  her  frozen  hands  seeking  his. 
Again  he  lived  through  the  days  that  followed,  the 
thunder  of  the  guns,  the  casemates  shaking,  the  bitter 
cold,  the  darkness,  and  she  always  by  his  bed — her 
every  touch,  her  every  breath,  telling  him  of  a  love 
so  pure,  so  infinite,  that  his  dark  heart,  heavy  with 
the  bitterness  of  self-accusation,  sank  subdued  under 
the  strength  of  such  a  passion. 

He  thought  of  the  long  nights,  the  pain,  the  fever, 
the  piercing  chill,  the  hunger,  all  borne  in  silence  lest 
he  should  grieve  for  her.  He  remembered  all  this  as 
he  lay  there,  his  eyes  closed,  his  temples  pressing  the 


THE   SONG  OF  THE   MOUSE.  327 

soft  curls  of  the  girl  who  had  done  all  for  him — who 
now  was  to  be  his  wife. 

"Are  you  still  unhappy,"  she  whispered.  " Think 
of  to-morrow.  Sins  are  forgiven  ;  it  is  in  my  faith." 

"  In  mine  ;  you  are  my  faith,"  he  said.  "  There  is 
nothing  but  you,  Hild£ — nothing  in  heaven  or  earth 
but  you  and  God  who  sent  you." 

*  *  *  #  #  * 

"  The  crutches  are  here,  shall  I  get  them  ?  "  asked 
Hilde,  smiling  through  her  tears. 

He  took  them  gravely,  praising  the  leather  arm- 
pieces,  the  lance  shafts,  the  rubber  ferrules.  She  was 
contented.  The  splints  on  his  broken  limb  galled 
him  ;  she  aided  him  to  sit  up  to  relieve  the  numbness, 
and  he  lay  back,  his  head  resting  on  her  breast. 

"  The  Prussians  sent  a  white  flag  this  morning,"  she 
said. 

"Then  it  is  true?"  he  asked,  "the  news  from 
Paris  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Paris  has  surrendered." 

He  was  silent ;  she  bent  her  head  forward,  sighing. 

"  It  was  a  good  fight,"  he  said,  "  Hunger  is  the 
victor  ;  the  Prussians  are  incidents." 

"  The  garrison  leaves  to-morrow,"  she  said  ;  "  the 
Prussians  enter  the  forts  at  sunset.  Our  soldiers  will 
take  you  in  the  ambulance ;  we  go  by  the  Porte 
Rouge.  Perhaps  Yolette —  "  She  broke  down  and 
wept  bitterly.  He  comforted  her,  saying  that  Bourke 
was  the  wisest  and  best  man  on  earth,  and  that  Yo 
lette  was  safer  than  if  she  had  been  in  the  Nanterre 
fort.  After  a  little  she  dried  her  eyes  and  reproached 
herself  for  causing  him  anxiety.  Then,  beside  his  bed, 
she  said  her  prayers  for  the  night,  kissed  him  peace- 


328  ASHES    OF   EMPIRE. 

fully,  turned  out  the  lamp  and  went  into  the  nurses' 
ward  to  sleep,  flinging  herself  on  the  iron  cot,  dressed 
as  she  was.  As  for  him,  he  lay  awake,  staring  into 
the  darkness.  The  beauty  of  this  young  girl's  soul, 
the  sacredness  of  her  passion,  overwhelmed  him. 
Who  was  he  that  he  should  share  her  thoughts,  her 
sacrifices,  her  ideals,  her  innocence  ?  Her  face  was  al 
ways  before  him  in  all  its  loveliness — exquisite,  spir 
itual.  In  her  eyes  he  read  the  secret  of  that  chaste 
unselfishness  that  had  given  all  and  surrendered  noth 
ing.  Sleep  came  and  went  like  a  brief  dream.  It  was 
morning ;  the  drums  were  already  beating  in  the 
dawn,  the  parade  resounded  with  the  hum  of  depar 
ture. 

Hilde  knocked  and  entered,  faintly  smiling  her 
morning  welcome.  The  adoration  in  his  face  dimmed 
her  sweet  eyes  a  little  ;  she  leaned  above  his  pillow, 
her  lips  rested  on  his.  That  morning  he  was  to  try 
his  crutches.  When  he  was  ready  she  helped  him  to 
the  window — he  was  scarcely  strong  enough  to  stand 
— and  he  laughed  and  adjusted  the  crutches,  as  she 
steadied  him  to  the  door,  where  the  foot  artillery  were 
passing  down  the  winding  street  to  the  monotonous 
tap  !  tap  !  of  a  drum. 

After  them  came  the  Mobiles,  bugles  sounding 
stridently  in  the  sharp  crisp  air.  He  wished  to  go  to 
the  ramparts,  she  dreaded  the  bits  of  ice  and  snow, 
but  he  had  his  way,  and  she  guided  him  across  the 
parade  and  up  the  sanded  incline  to  the  parapets 
above. 

The  sun  hung  over  the  distant  city,  glittering  on  a 
million  windows,  gilding  dome  and  spire  and  frosty 
river,  reddening  the  long  grey  palaces,  flooding  quays 


THE   SONG  OF  THE   MOUSE.  329 

and  roofs  and  bridges  with  a  hazy  radiance  that  turned 
the  streets  to  streaks  of  rose  and  pearl.  A  mist  of 
amethyst  veiled  the  heights  of  Chatillon.  Behind  it 
the  German  cannon  lay,  stretching  from  Clamart 
northward,  then  east  and  south  and  west,  in  one 
enormous  iron  circle,  back  to  Fontenay  aux  Roses. 
Across  the  river  from  the  fort,  between  Chatou  and 
Croissy,  the  Prussian  cavalry  were  plainly  visible, 
moving  at  a  gallop  over  a  wasted  meadow.  Beyond 
them  rose  the  smoke  of  camp-fires,  marking  the  long 
line  of  trenches  eastward  to  Houilles. 

"  In  Paris  there  is  little  smoke,"  said  Hilde",  sadly. 
"  Jim,  I  can  scarcely  wait  to  go.  What  do  you  sup 
pose  the  shells  have  done  to  the  city  ?  Think  of  it ! 
Twenty  days  of  ceaseless  bombardment,  and  my  sister 
there—" 

"  There  was  more  risk  in  the  fort  here,"  said  Hare- 
wood ;  "we  have  been  under  fire  longer.  It  has 
pounded  the  barracks  to  powder,  but  you  yourself 
know  that  we  have  not  lost  many  killed." 

He  continued,  "The  Mouse  has  not  reappeared,  has 
he,  dearest  ?  "  Hilde"  shook  her  head. 

"  Well,"  said  Harewood,  "  he's  in  Paris  again,  unless 
he  was  shot  outside  the  lower  parapets.  Did  he  say 
nothing  about  going,  Hilde  ?  " 

"  No,  Jim.  He  hung  around  the  casemates  for  a 
week.  Then  an  officer  complained  of  missing  his  gold 
watch,  and  asked  me  whether  the  Mouse  was  your 
servant.  The  Mouse  was  listening — I  saw  him  behind 
the  door.  That  night  a  Mobile  lost  some  money  and 
went  about  the  parade  swearing  terribly.  The  shells 
were  falling,  striking  the  barracks  every  minute,  but 
the  Mobile  didn't  notice  them  and  kept  on  swearing 


33°  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

that  the  Mouse  had  taken  his  money.  In  the  morn 
ing  the  Mouse  had  vanished." 

"  He's  a  strange  beast,"  mused  Harewood.  "  I 
know  less  about  him  than  I  did  the  first  night  I  saw 
him.  Yet  Paris  is  full  of  such  mice — and  I  have  seen 
many." 

Hilde"  sat  down  on  the  parapet  and  looked  out  over 
Paris.  Harewood  watched  her.  Care  and  suffering 
had  not  narrowed  the  lovely  oval  of  her  face ;  her 
eyes  were  clear  and  sweet ;  the  rounded  chin,  the  del 
icate  straight  nose  had  not  changed.  Trouble  had 
once  effaced  a  certain  child-like  beauty  in  the  lips  and 
eyes ;  trouble  perhaps  brought  it  back,  yet  now  that 
unconscious  innocence — the  frail  bloom  of  childhood, 
was  strengthened  by  something  more  subtle,  more  ex 
quisite.  A  maid  is  always  a  child  until  knowledge  of 
sorrow  comes  to  make  her  a  woman. 

A  sparrow,  the  first  they  had  seen  for  many  a 
month,  alighted  in  the  snow  under  the  muzzle  of  a 
big  gun. 

"  Hilde,  do  you  remember  when  we  freed  your 
birds?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  Jim." 

After  a  pause  he  said  wistfully :  "  How  young  we 
were — in  those  days." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "  we  were  very  young." 

Her  serious,  sweet  eyes  met  his ;  her  hand  stole 
across  the  parapet  and  nestled  in  his.  Some  soldiers 
came  through  the  snow,  bearing  a  dead  man  on  a 
stretcher.  As  they  passed  the  cannon,  the  sparrow 
fluttered  up,  high  overhead,  flying  across  the  gulf  to 
Paris. 

"  To-night  we  will  follow  it,"  she  murmured.     "  O, 


THE  SONG  OF  THE   MOUSE.  331 

Jim,  I  am  so  tired  of  the  snow!  I  am  so  tired  of 
winter  and  whiteness  and  death." 

u  You  shall  see  the  spring  come  in  the  Breton  forests," 
he  said.  "  You  shall  see  miles  of  primroses  and  pink- 
thorn,  you  shall  see  shaded  glades  purple  with  violets, 
and  everywhere  young  leaves,  young  blossoms — a 
young  world,  Hilde",  and  all  for  us." 

"  A  young  world,"  she  sighed  ;  "  that  is  what  I  love — 
green  leaves,  sunlight,  and  youth — everywhere  youth. 
It  is  kinder " 

"Youth  is  kinder "  he  repeated. 

The  clock  in  the  citadel  struck  heavily  ;  the  flag  on 
the  iron  pole  fluttered  to  the  ground. 

"  The  garrison  is  going,"  said  Hilde".  "Do  you 
think  they  will  remember  us  ?  They  promised  me  two 
places  in  an  ambulance." 

"  Look  at  the  high-road  below,"  said  Harewood  •, 
"  see  the  carriages  and  wagons  coming  out  from  Paris. 
That  is  the  Nanterre  road.  It  leads  to  the  gates  of 
the  north." 

They  leaned  over  together,  watching  the  sunshine 
flashing  on  polished  equipages,  on  wheels  and 
lamps  and  harness  trappings.  The  road  from  Paris 
was  full  of  them  ;  it  was  like  a  winter  day  in  the  Bois 
de  Boulogne,  save  that  the  horses  moved  without 
spirit,  and  there  were  many  shabby  carts  and  wagons 
intermingled  with  the  carriages. 

As  the  procession  of  vehicles  approached  the  base 
of  the  hill  the  coachmen  and  drivers,  swathed  in  furs, 
became  visible;  and,  after  a  while,  Hild<§  could  hear, 
far  below  the  fortress  walls,  the  tinkle  of  chain  and 
hoof  and  wheel. 

"  Parents  coming  to  the  fort  to  look  for  their  sons," 
said  Harewood,  soberly. 


332  ASHES  OF  EMPIRE. 

"Sweethearts,  perhaps,  for  their  lovers,"  said  Hilde". 

On  they  came,  rich  and  poor,  the  banker  from  his 
home  in  the  Pare  Mon^eau,  the  butcher  from  the  long- 
closed  Halles,  the  mother  from  the  noble  Faubourg, 
the  mother  from  the  "  Faubourg  Infect,"  patrician  and 
plebeian,  sister  and  brother — and  some  who  were  child 
less  and  did  not  know  it,  and  some  who  were  widows 
and  wore,  as  yet,  no  crape. 

"  They  are  coming,"  said  Hilde.  "  I  hear  carriages 
on  the  gun-road  below.  They  will  drive  to  the  parade. 
O,  Jim,  Jim,  think  of  the  mothers  who  are  coming, 
only  to  take  back  their  dead  sons !  And  those  who 
are  buried  outside  the  glacis !  What  will  the  mothers 
and  fathers  do — and  their  children  dead  down  there 
under  that  ice  and  snow." 

The  parade  was  filling  now,  with  vehicles  of  every 
description  ;  coachmen  were  leaping  to  the  ground, 
old  men  and  feeble  white-haired  women  stepped  out 
into  the  snow.  An  old  gentleman  came  toward  Hare- 
wood,  lifting  his  hat  with  an  anxious  smile. 

"  I  am  looking  for  my  son,"  he  said,  "  could  mon 
sieur  inform  me  where  the  barracks  are?" 

"  The  barracks  are  in  ruins,"  said  Harewood :  "  the 
troops  muster  in  the  casemates,  monsieur,  where,  I 
trust,  you  will  find  that  all  is  well." 

Others  came  to  seek  information  ;  an  ancient  dame, 
hobbling  on  two  canes,  asked  for  her  son,  "Jean  Bor- 
nic,  ma  belle  dame,  of  the  Breton  marine  artillery,  and 
so  tall  and  handsome, — my  son,  madame." 

Hilde  answered  gravely  in  the  Breton  language ;  the 
old  dame's  withered  cheeks  flushed  faintly. 

"  From  Carhaix,  my  sweet  lady,"  she  said,  with  a 
little  courtesy. 


THE   SONG  OF  THE   MOUSE.  333 

Hilde  told  her  to  go  to  the  citadel,  and  she  went, 
smiling  and  nodding  her  grey  head. 

"  Her  son  was  killed  the  last  day  of  the  siege,"  said 
Hilde  ;  "  I  sent  her  to  the  citadel,  where  they  will  tell 
her." 

There  were  tears  in  her  eyes ;  she  laid  her  head  on 
Harewood's  shoulder. 

"  Life  is  too  sad,"  she  said. 

The  bell  in  the  citadel  began  to  toll  ;  a  column  of 
soldiers,  marching  without  drums  or  arms,  entered  the 
parade,  already  crowded  with  vehicles. 

"  That  is  the  end,"  said  Harewood,  solemnly  ;  "  the 
fort  belongs  to  the  king  of  Prussia." 

"  Our  fort,"  said  Hilde",  turning  very  white. 

She  trembled  so  that  he  drew  her  to  him,  holding 
her  close. 

"  Wait,"  he  whispered,  "  remember  what  we  said  of 
youth  and  springtide.  The  land  needs  sunshine  and 
pure  air  and  green  leaves  and  stillness.  Death  will  be 
a  memory  with  summer.  France  can  wait ;  her  prom 
ise  is  in  her  youth." 

The  bell  tolled  monotonously;  three  silent  files  of 
men  entered  the  gun-road  and  began  the  long  descent. 

"There  is  somebody  in  a  carriage  coming  this  way," 
said  Harewood.  The  next  moment  he  uttered  an  ex 
clamation,  half  petulant,  half  amused. 

"Hilde!     It's  the  Mouse!" 

She  rose,  breathless,  excited,  hands  outstretched  ;  a 
woman  leaned  from  the  carriage,  then  sprang  to  the 
ground. 

"Yolette!  Yolette !  "  cried  Hilde";  "little  sister,  I 
am  here  ! " 

4<  There's  Bourke  !  "  stammered  Harewood,  and  tried 
to  rise  on  his  crutches. 


334  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

Yolette  was  in  Hilde's  arms,  sobbing  :  "  Little  sister ! 
Darling  Hilde  !  Don't  cry  so,  don't — we  are  going 
home — home — really  we  are."  Bourke's  strong  hands 
clasped  Harewood's ;  his  keen  grave  face  questioned 
the  younger  man. 

What  he  read  in  Harewood's  eyes  lighted  up  his 
own,  and  he  stepped  back  and  took  Hilde's  hands  in 
his.  When  he  turned  again  to  Harewood,  the  latter 
was  holding  a  little  court  of  his  own.  Yolette,  Red 
Riding  Hood  and  the  Mouse  surrounded  him  ;  the  child 
had  both  arms  close  around  his  neck ;  Yolette  was 
grieving  over  his  wounded  limb,  and  holding  his  hand 
in  both  her  gloved  ones.  As^or  the  Mouse,  he  chewed 
a  straw  and  looked  on  with  mixed  sentiments  impossi 
ble  to  fathom. 

"  He  brought  me  a  silver  cup,"  said  Red  Riding 
Hood,  gravely. 

The  Mouse  shifted  the  straw  between  his  teeth  and 
looked  anywhere  but  at  Harewood. 

"  We  are  to  have  white  bread  to-morrow  in  Paris," 
observed  Red  Riding  Hood,  still  holding  Harewood's 
neck  encircled  in  her  frail  arms. 

"  And  wedding  cake,"  he  said,  gaily,  "  but  not  if 
you  choke  me  to  death,  little  sweetheart." 

The  leer  on  the  Mouse's  face  was  impossible  to  de 
scribe.  Whether  he  meant  it  well  or  ill  is  a  problem. 
The  chances  are  that  he  intended  to  convey  the  as 
surance  of  his  benevolent  interest  in  Harewood  and 
Hilde".  However,  he  only  said  that  the  carriage  was 
ready  and  the  drive  to  Paris  a  long  and  cold  one,  and 
he,  the  Mouse,  was  ready  to  start  as  soon  as  "  ces 
messieurs  "  were  ready. 

Harewood  laughed  and  took  his  crutches,     Hilde", 


THE   SONG   OF  THE   MOUSE.  335 

colouring  faintly,  placed  one  arm  around  him  and 
aided  him  to  rise. 

"  Come  on,  Bourke,"  he  said,  with  a  touch  of  the 
old  boyish  impetuosity — yet,  under  it,  there  was  some 
thing  tender,  even  a  little  wistful,  as  though  he  needed 
the  strength  of  his  comrade  to  strengthen  him  in 
body  and  mind. 

"  I  think,"  he  said,  as  Bourke  picked  him  up  uncere 
moniously  and  carried  him  off  to  the  carriage — "  I 
think,  Cecil,  that  you'll  find  hereafter  that  my  con 
science  is  straighter  than  my  leg." 

"  We'll  mend  both,  Jim,"  laughed  Bourke,  as  the 
Mouse  opened  the  carriage  door  for  Hilde  and  Yo- 
lette. 

Red  Riding  Hood  was  set  high  on  the  driver's  seat 
beside  the  Mouse.  Bourke  placed  Harewood  gently 
in  the  corner  beside  Hilde,  then,  nodding  to  the 
Mouse,  he  entered  the  carriage  himself. 

"  Yolette  and  I  have  taken  a  house  in  Passy,"  he 
said,  smiling  across  at  Harewood.  "  Yolette  says  we 
must  have  a  honeymoon  if  we  wait  ten  years  for  it,  so 
I'm  thinking — if  you  and  Hilde*  are  married — and  the 
blockade  is  raised — we  might  run  down  to  the  Breton 
coast  until  Paris  has  cleaned  house." 

"  We  were  thinking,"  said  Hilde,  with  sweet  dignity, 
"  of  doing  the  same  thing." 

Yolette  suddenly  leaned  across  the  carriage  and 
kissed  her. 

The  Mouse,  outside,  cracked  his  whip  and  sang  as 
he  drove  : 

For  what  things  shall  our  brothers  plead  ? 
A  rope,  a  match,  a  barley  seed  ; 
A  rope  to  hang  the  man  of  greed, 


336  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

A  match  to  burn  his  house,  we  need. 
To  feed  the  poor,  a  barley  seed, 

A  barley  seed, 

A  barley  seed  ! 

Crack  !  crack !  went  the  whip  ;  the  sifted  snow  flew 
high,  the  wheels  spun,  slipped,  creaked  and  whirled 
round  in  a  shower  of  icy  slush.  And  always  the 
Mouse  trolled  his  merry  catch. 

A  barley  seed, 

A  barley  seed, 

The  rich  shall  bleed, 

The  poor  shall  feed, 

So,  brothers,  sow  the  barley  seed  ! 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

SAINTE   HILDE   OF  CARHAIX. 

IN  Carhaix  there  is  a  rustle  through  the  winter- 
tinted  woods  when  the  March  moon  dies  in  the  skies 
and  the  blue  starlight  sinks  trembling,  fathoms  deep, 
into  the  glassy  sea.  Then,  through  a  breathless 
dawn,  steals  the  pale  light  of  April,  tinting  with  gilt  a 
world  of  primrose  petals,  creeping  through  woodlands 
mantled  in  grey  and  brown  and  silver,  till  in  the  deep 
est  forest  depths  a  bird  awakes  and  ruffles  and  looks 
up  amid  a  million  tiny  newborn  leaves. 

In  Carhaix,  league  upon  league  of  moorland  grows 
sweet  scented,  the  gorse  is  aromatic,  the  marsh  is 
mossed  with  spongy  gold ;  the  blue  sea  ripples  like  a 
river,  gilded  with  ribbed  sand,  flecked  with  reflections 
where  white  clouds  blow  and  white  gulls  drift  like 
wind-tossed  thistle  silk. 

Three  houses,  woods,  a  chapel,  and  a  shrine  ;  miles 
of  pink-thorn,  silvery  cliffs,  and  a  still  sail  at  sea — 
that  is  Carhaix.  All  day  long  the  sea-swallows  skim 
the  inlet  shores,  the  silver  mullet,  shoal  on  shoal, 
crossing  the  bar,  lace  all  the  shallows  with  their 
frothy  ropes  of  foam.  All  day  long  the  langons 
spring  above  the  sands,  quivering,  shimmering,  deli 
cate  as  pale  patterns  in  the  shuttle  of  a  flying  loom. 

April  had  come  in  Carhaix.     Hilde  also  had  come 


338  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

to  Carhaix — back  to  her  own  country — for  the  block 
ade  had  ended  at  last,  the  gates  of  Paris  were  opened, 
and  the  long  Prussian  columns,  marching  back,  lined 
all  the  northern  roads. 

So  she  had  come — her  young  heart  vaguely  wistful 
— to  be  wedded  in  the  Carhaix  chapel  where  she  had 
been  baptized,  and  where,  all  in  filmy  white,  she  had 
stolen  through  the  dim  aisles,  an  awed  communicant. 
For  her,  atonement  did  not  end  at  the  confessional ; 
there  only  sin  might  be  put  away,  sadness  was  lifted 
with  the  bridal  wreath ;  sorrow  ended  when  the 
orange  buds  fell  from  her  breast.  Atonement  never 
ended,  but  its  bitterness  would  end  like  the  memory 
of  evil  in  the  innocence  of  a  blameless  life.  It  seemed 
to  her  that  all  would  be  well,  now  that  she  had  come 
back.  In  all  the  world  there  was  but  this  one  place 
where,  with  her  child's  heart  heavy  with  memories, 
her  woman's  heart  thrilling  with  love  and  repentance, 
she  could  come  and  kneel  and  go  forth,  in  peace  for 
ever. 

The  April  sun  gleamed  through  the  jewelled  glass 
and  fell  in  diamonds,  staining  her  feet  with  violet  and 
rose.  She  saw  Sainte  Hilde"  of  Carhaix,  high  in  her 
plaster  niche,  azure  robed,  smiling  her  placid  smile 
among  the  shadows  ;  she  saw  Our  Lady  of  the  Cliffs, 
tinselled,  magnificent,  holding  the  Child  by  the  dim 
altar,  where  waxen  tapers  burned  and  the  carved 
crucifix  reared  its  slender  arms.  And  there  her  child 
hood  came  to  meet  her.  Again  she  saw  the  pro 
cessional,  the  cross  aloft,  Our  Lady  of  the  Cliffs 
passing  amid  the  kneeling  crowd  ;  again  she  heard  the 
fresh  young  voices  swelling  in  the  wind,  the  chanting 
of  the  cure",  the  murmured  prayer.  The  scene  shifted 


SAINTE   HILDE   OF   CARHAIX.  339 

seaward — she  saw  the  tempest  and  the  misty  sea,  the 
white  coiffes  on  the  headland,  the  men  on  the  shore ; 
then,  as  it  seemed,  years  afterward,  she  heard  the  bell 
tolling  in  the  chapel  for  lost  souls. 

She  remembered  her  father,  too,  always  in  the  forest 
where  the  horns  sounded  all  day  long  and  the  hound's 
baying  surged  and  ebbed  with  the  shifting  wind.  He 
lay  in  the  chapel  yard,  near  the  mother  she  had  never 
seen,  buried,  as  he  wished,  with  his  boar  spear  on  his 
breast — the  last  ruined  huntsman  of  a  ruined  race — 
the  landless  relic  of  a  landed  Breton  line,  old  as  the 
ancient  chapel,  which  was  older  than  Carhaix. 
*  *  *  *  #•  * 

A  bird  twittered  on  the  chapel  porch ;  the  vague 
odour  of  the  sea  stirred  her  heart.  She  turned  and 
looked  back  at  the  altar,  where  to-morrow  she  should 
kneel  a  bride,  then  made  her  reverence  and  went  out 
into  the  sunny  world. 

Yolette  sat  on  the  cliffs  looking  off  to  sea.  Bourke 
lay  full  length  beside  her,  sniffing  the  fresh  wind  and 
watching  Red  Riding  Hood,  who,  skirts  tucked  up, 
paddled  blissfully  in  the  thin  films  of  water  along  the 
shining  sands  below. 

Harewood  stood  near  the  beach,  critically  inspect 
ing  a  steamer's  trail  of  smoke  on  the  horizon.  When 
he  heard  Hilde's  voice  on  the  cliffs  above  him,  he 
climbed  up,  slowly,  for  he  was  still  a  little  lame,  and 
met  her,  smiling. 

"  The  child  down  there  is  in  the  seventh  heaven," 
he  said  ;  "  She's  been  nipped  by  a  crab  and  bruised  by 
the  rocks,  and  when  she's  half  drowned  she'll  be  con 
tented,  I  fancy." 

"  It's  curious,"  said  Bourke,  looking  up,   "that  the 


340  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

Paris  papers  have  not  come.  The  last  mail  arrived 
here  on  March  eighteenth,  and  here  it  is  April  second." 

"  A  mail  did  come  ;  I  brought  it  down — but  I  went 
into  the  chapel  and  forgot,"  said  Hilde". 

"  Nobody  expects  brides  to  remember,"  said  Bourke 
sarcastically  ;  "  do  you  mind  letting  me  see  my  mail  ?  " 

Yolette  looked  up  laughing  as  Hilde  calmly  handed 
the  letters  to  Harewood.  That  young  man  sorted  the 
papers,  tossed  a  package  and  a  parcel  over  to  Bourke. 
and  said:  " There's  only  one  letter;  it's  for  me." 

Bourke  began  to  open  the  parcel ;  it  was  sealed  and 
elaborately  tied  with  a  sort  of  rope. 

"Hello!  What  in  the  name  of  decency  is  this!" 
he  said,  holding  up  a  gold  watch  and  chain.  "  Why, 
the  packet  is  directed  to  you,  Jim." 

Harewood  looked  up  blankly  from  the  letter  he  was 
studying,  then  groaned  and  handed  the  letter  to 
Hilde. 

"  Read  it,"  he  said  ;  "  I  can't.     It's  from  the  Mouse." 

In  the  midst  of  a  breathless  silence,  Hilde  took  the 
letter  and  examined  it  in  consternation.  Then  she 
read  slowly: 

"Belleville,  3oth  of  March,  1871. 

"  Monsieur : — I  take  my  pen  in  hand,  hoping  that  these  few  lines 
may  find  monsieur  in  as  good  health  as  I  am.  I  have  to  inform 
monsieur  that  the  weather  is  as  usual.  We  took  the  Hotel  de 
Ville  and  killed  General  Lecomte  and  Clement  Thomas  in  a  gar 
den.  It  is  raining,  but  I  am  quite  comfortable,  having  been  made 
Captain  in  the  National  Guard,  and  find  myself  much  better  with 
nothing  to  do. 

"  The  Commune  has  been  established,  and  there  is  food  and 
drink  for  all  and  no  work.  We  frightened  the  bourgeoisie  passably 
well,  and  Thiers  has  run  away,  where  we  expect  that  the  citizen, 


SAINTE   HILDE   OF   CARHAIX.  34! 

Major  Flourens,  will  catch  him  and  shoot  them  all,  as  they  are  aris 
tocrats  and  most  perfidious  to  the  poor. 

"  I  have  to  inform  monsieur  that  I  wish  him  health,  also  to  Mad 
emoiselle  Hilde,  to  Monsieur  Bourke,  and  to  madame,  lately  Mad 
emoiselle  Yolette.  Also  to  the  thin  droll  little  one  who  was 
afraid  of  me.  I  send  her  some  forks. 

"  The  weather  continues  rainy.  I  send  to  monsieur  a  watch. 
Also  to  Mademoiselle  Hilde  for  her  wedding  a  diamond  star. 
To  Monsieur  Bourke  and  to  madame  I  send  many  spoons. 

"  Therefore,  adieu.  Your  comrade, 

"  THE  MOUSE." 

"  Citizen,  Captain,  National  Guard  unattached." 

"  I  wish  also  to  say  adieu  to  the  little  one  who  is  afraid  of  me." 

Bourke  would  have  laughed,  but  Hilda's  horror- 
struck  face  sobered  him. 

"What  on  earth  shall  we  do  with  that  plunder?" 
said  Harewood  ;  "  the  creature  has  been  pillaging 
women  and  children  !  " 

"You  and  your  citizen  friend  must  settle  that," 
said  Bourke,  trying  not  to  laugh.  "  These  spoons  and 
forks  have  all  sorts  of  initials  on  them.  The  watch 
is  marked  '  H.  de  B./  and  the  diamond  star  is  to  a 
lady  named  Nini.  Jim,  I  believe,  this  time,  that  the 
Commune  means  business." 

He  looked  at  Yolette,  who  shook  her  head  de 
cidedly,  saying : 

"  If  you  think  you  are  going  to  write  about  it  for 
your  stupid  newspaper,  I  have  the  honour,  monsieur, 
to  inform  you  that  you  shall  not." 

Harewood  glanced  at  Hilde",  smiling  faintly. 

"  I  suppose  I  must  go  to  Paris  if  you  send  me,"  he 
said. 

"  If  I  send  you,"  murmured  Hilde"  ;  "  yes — you  may 
go  then." 


342  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

They  turned  and  looked  at  the  house  on  the  hill. 
The  morning  sun  glittered  on  every  pane  ;  they  saw 
Scheherazade  sprawled  on  the  porch,  blinking  at  the 
ocean  ;  they  heard  the  sarcastic  croak  of  the  parrot, 
Mehemet  Ali,  tip-toeing  down  the  garden  among  the 
hyacinths. 

She  passed  her  slender  hand  through  his  arm  and 
leaned  her  cheek  against  his  shoulder. 

Down  on  the  yellow  sands  Red  Riding  Hood,  en 
chanted,  waded  ankle-deep  along  the  frothy  shore. 
A  white  gull  rose  from  the  shining  waves,  a  distant 
sail  glimmered. 

Then,  from  the  cliff  a  skylark  rose,  higher,  higher 
into  the  azure,  showering  the  whole  land  with  song. 
And  Hilde"  closed  her  eyes  and  listened,  her  fair  face 
on  his  shoulder,  her  white  hand  close  in  his. 


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58  ASHES   OF   EMPIRE. 

impossible.  Shall  we,  Jim  ?  You  were  so  anxious  to 
go,  you  know — yesterday  ?  " 

"  I  wish,"  said  Harewood,  in  sudden  irritation,  "  that 
you'd  stop  grinning.  No,  I  won't  go  !  I'm  not  a 
confounded  weather  vane — " 

"  Except  in  love,"  observed  Bourke.  "  Don't  lose 
your  temper,  Jim,  and  don't  dangle  around  Hilde 
Chalais.  Now  I'm  going  down  to  the  city  to  see 
what's  up.  Want  to  come  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Harewood,  shortly. 

Bourke  nodded,  with  unimpaired  cheerfulness,  and 
put  on  his  hat. 

"  Anything  I  can  do  for  you  ?  No  ?  Well,  tell  our 
hostesses  I'm  lunching  en  ville.  I'll  be  back  to  dinner 
at  seven.  By  the  way,  I  think  I'd  better  sell  our 
horses  now,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  care  a  damn  what  you  do,"  said  Harewood, 
sulkily. 

Bourke  nodded  again,  and  went  out  whistling.  He 
understood  the  younger  man,  and  he  would  have  laid 
down  his  life  for  him  any  hour  in  the  day,  knowing 
that  Harewood  would  not  do  the  same  for  him. 

When  he  had  gone,  Harewood  threw  himself  on  the 
bed,  both  hands  behind  his  head.  Perhaps  he  was  in 
terested  in  the  single  fly  that  circled  above  the  bed, 
sometimes  darting  off  at  a  tangent,  sometimes  cutting 
the  circles  into  abrupt  angles,  but  always  swinging 
back  again  as  though  suspended  from  the  ceiling  on 
an  invisible  thread. 

He  thought  of  Bourke — already  wondering  at  his 
own  bad  temper;  he  thought  of  the  war — the  folly 
of  Saarbriickcn,  the  never-to-be-forgotten  shambles  of 
Mars-la-Tour,  at  least  he  imagined  he  was  thinking  of 


THE   MIRRORED   FACE.  59 

these  things.  In  reality,  a  vague  shape  was  haunting 
him,  vague  fingers  touched  his  own,  shadowy  eyes 
questioned  his,  a  name  sounded  in  his  ears,  again  and 
again,  until  the  quiet  beating  of  his  heart  took  up  the 
persistent  cadence. 

He  roused  himself,  went  over  to  the  mirror  and 
stared  at  his  own  reflection.  Self-disgust  seized  him  ; 
he  was  sick  of  himself,  of  his  own  futility,  of  his  life — 
so  utterly  useless  because  so  absolutely  selfish.  That 
was  the  strange  part  of  it  to  him  ;  nobody  else  seemed 
to  be  aware  how  selfish  he  was.  He  himself  knew  it, 
but  there  was  one  thing  he  had  not  known,  namely, 
that  selfishness  is  the  first  step  toward  cowardice. 
True,  he  was  cool  enough  under  fire — he  never  hesi 
tated  to  risk  his  skin  when  it  came  in  the  routine  of 
his  profession.  He  even  risked  it  needlessly  from  sheer 
perverseness,  and  his  reputation  for  recklessness  was  a 
proverb  among  his  fellows.  He  had  been  known  to 
bring  a  stricken  comrade  in  from  the  fighting  line. 
Thinking  over  the  episode  later,  he  knew  that  he  had 
been  actuated  by  no  high  motives  of  self-sacrifice  ;  he 
had  done  it  simply  as  part  of  the  circus.  He  was 
rather  surprised  when  they  praised  him,  for  everybody 
else  was  under  fire  at  the  same  time,  and  he  knew  that 
if  he  had  not  been  there  in  the  line  of  his  own  pro 
fession,  and  any  one  had  asked  him  to  go  out  and 
risk  his  life  in  that  way,  he  would  have  indignantly 
refused. 

At  times  his  recklessness  amounted  to  imbecility  in 
the  eyes  of  his  confreres.  Sutherland,  commenting  on 
it  one  evening,  observed  that  Harewood  was  troubled 
with  an  annoying  malady  called  "youth."  But  this 
recklessness,  when  he  showed  it,  was  not  ignorance  of 


